


Turning the Page

by Loeily, wishingwell44



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Actors, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon-Typical Violence, Coming Out, Drinking, Drunken Confessions, Emetophobia, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, Happily Ever After, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Mutual Pining, PTSD, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Resolved Sexual Tension, Romantic Angst, Romantic Tension, Sexual Tension, Strangers to Lovers, Swearing, Vomiting, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-18 13:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21277283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loeily/pseuds/Loeily, https://archiveofourown.org/users/wishingwell44/pseuds/wishingwell44
Summary: Bucky Barnes is a screenwriter. Well. A wannabe screenwriter. He mostly just sits at his desk at work, and tries to finish the movie he’s been working on for the past however many years.Steve Rogers is an action movie star that wants to return to the stage. He wants to get away from the mindless films of shoot-em-up drivel that Hollywood always churns out, and back into the throws of theater.Unknowingly, Bucky and Steve both sign up for a class that would benefit both writing and performing on stage, to both improve and hone the skills they already have. What happens when two strangers are ultimately paired together?Written for the 2019 Captain America Big Bang - Art by the amazing Loeily!
Relationships: Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Alexander Pierce, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 14
Kudos: 127
Collections: Captain America Big Bang 2019 | cabigbang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I first off want to say, a big thank you to [Loeily](https://twitter.com/LoeilyArt) for their amazing art they have contributed. Loeily went above and beyond and created such lovely and amazing art that I cannot stop fangirling over. From the POV separations to the banner. Literally amazing. 
> 
> Second, I would like to give a big hearty thank you to ModEraPoppins for such an incredible beta. She really made this story what it is, and could not post this story without any confidence without the incredible directions she gave me to make this story go above and beyond. 
> 
> Third, I didn't really realize it until after completing the story, but this story is loosely inspired by the book Fangirl by Rainbow Rowell. 
> 
> Fourth, I want to thank [TinyOtter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TinyOtter/pseuds/TinyOtter) for sensitivity reading parts of this story. I appreciate you taking your time out of your busy schedule!
> 
> Lastly, I want to thank you for clicking on the story to read it.
> 
> So with that, enjoy!

**  
**

[ THE MAN ACROSS FROM HIM SITS IN A CHAIR ]

_ No, that’s not right. _

[ THE MAN SITS DOWN SLOWLY IN THE OAK CHAIR, BECKONING FOR HIS -] 

_ What the fuck am I even writing? _

[ DENVER SEES THE MAN SITTING DOWN SLOWLY, ADJUSTING HIS **WHITE DOCTORS COAT** SO IT DOESN'T WRINKLE AS HE SITS DOWN IN THE CHAIR. THE CHAIR CREAKS, SOFTLY, BUT THE ROOM IS FILLED WITH TENSION THE SOUND IS THE ONLY THING THE AUDIENCE CAN FOCUS ON] 

Bucky Barnes closed his laptop, and pushed it to the side. The most consistent part of his keyboard he had been using was his ‘delete’ button, and the waning of the small white letters definitely showed. This script, this...whatever it was, was almost done. 

Or, that’s what he had been telling himself for the last five years. Bucky looked out the window in his office, trying not to let his frustration over one scene with a chair get to him in the middle of the day. He decided it was time to stretch his legs. 

People were typing away on their computers, not paying attention to anything but what was in front of them. His job as an accounting clerk was fine_ . _

His job as an accounting clerk _ was fine. _

Bucky poured a large cup of coffee into his mug. It wasn’t fine.

It was hopelessly boring, and never ending, but it paid most of the bills. He had this dream that when he finished his film degree he would end up in Hollywood, working on one of the most highly anticipated _ Netflix _ series as a head writer; but here he was 10 years down the road and tapping away at an unfinished script that he had been working on for the past five years because his ever annoying roommate told him to do it. 

Sam always meant well, _hell,_ he was the guy who shoved his laptop in Bucky’s face and told him to _ finally write the fucking thing, instead of talking my ear off about it. _ But, even though Bucky rolled his eyes and just _ stared _ at the blank document, he took his friend’s advice and started to type. 

Every so often when that creative breath of air would fill his lungs, he would open up the document. He would re-read it, would add, delete, and change scenes around. He would do anything in his power to make this screenplay work, so far it just ended up being this effervescent _ blob _ that wouldn't have an ending. Bucky couldn’t decide if he wanted a happy or sad one, and well. The thought of ending something without any hard resolution or even a _ satisfying _one, honestly scared him. 

He got back to his desk, and tried to focus on his actual job, rather than probably spiraling down yet another rabbit hole. 

*

In his thirty years, Bucky Barnes had lived a full life. He was born in New York Presbyterian hospital to a mother and a father, as most average stories would go, and grew up in the heart of Brooklyn. One more sibling came along, a girl. His family was average. _ He _ was average. 

Up until he went to war. 

It was his choice. He _ wanted _ to go, and even served in his high school ROTC Army program that they offered. He felt centered. He felt focused. 

He enlisted. 

However, during one of their routine sweeps, Bucky was in the vicinity when another person in his squad stepped on an IED. They lost lives, they _ sacrificed their lives _, and all Bucky ended up with was a medal, a bad arm, and a one way ticket home. It was one of those things that he could not stop thinking about - how he was able to leave, but they were. They...they were dead. Gone. 

Bucky became quiet. He would end up sitting behind the television for hours at end just watching, figuring out the characters, and how the show played out. He would talk to his therapist about the characters and their choices, and his physical therapist would get an earful as she was making sure that his range of motion wasn’t being compromised from scar tissue buildup. 

Sam just got fed up, and shoved the computer in his face. 

“What’s this for?” Bucky would ask.

“Just please, get your thoughts out on paper, rather than making me fall asleep,” Sam would respond. 

Bucky chewed on the inside of his lip. 

When Bucky became antsy to get back into the world of better days, his therapist told him that he should get a degree, or find something that would give him monotony. Give him a way to make sure he was able to balance. To feel centered.

He always loved numbers, and chose to get his associates in accounting, but it didn’t stop him from taking a class in film. 

Then a couple other classes were sprinkled in. 

Just _ one _more to round it out. 

By the time he was twenty-five, Bucky had two associate degrees - one that would allow him to have a schedule, and one where he was able to make sure absolutely no one knew what was going on, and he preferred it that way. 

*

The door to Bucky’s shitty apartment creaked loudly as he opened it. As he walked through, he loosened his tie and propped his bag by the door. The rest of his work day was boring at best. Mostly, he just cleaned up his almost done accounts before taking off. He didn’t want to look at the page. 

“You don’t want to look at the screenplay, do you?” Sam asked as he walked into the living room. 

“How could you tell?” Bucky asked.

“You got that look on your face. You’ve had that look on your face since you started working on that script again,” Sam pointed to the computer bag with a wave of his hand. 

“I just,” Bucky sighed, “I think it’s not working.”

“Well, you’re still writing it, so it must be moving somewhere.” 

“That’s the _ thing _, Sam. I’m still writing the goddamn thing. I don’t think it took Spielberg half a decade to write Jurassic Park.”

“It was Michael Crichton who wrote it, and he adapted it from his own book,” Sam responded as he walked into the kitchen to grab a drink.

“Well, you get what I mean.”

“What scene are you stuck on?”

“Denver is being interrogated by the Doctor.” 

“Okay, well that could be tough.”

“It shouldn’t. This whole scene is the cumulation of probably an hour of backstory that then circles back to this one moment. It’s all about the _ how’d he get here _ , Denver finally _ gets _there and it’s a big blank. A big fucking blank.”

Sam sat down and cracked a beer. “So, you’re having trouble with endings?”

“I’m having troubles with tying up loose ends.” 

“Why don’t you take a writing class?”

“I can’t afford to go back for more college credits.”

“Never said anything about college,” Sam shrugged. “This is New York! They have tons of just random as shit classes. Hell, I even saw a flyer for instructional acrobatics.” 

Bucky scratched the back of his neck. “Instructional acrobatics? What does that even mean? Hold up, I’m not one of your clients.”

Sam smirked, and shrugged his shoulders. “Sometimes being a counselor is like being a friend -”

“Okay, okay _ Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood. _”

“However,” Sam said pointedly, “I have no idea - I’m not looking to get my leg dislocated in a piece of rope either.”

“That’d be a strange thing to tell the ER doctor about.”

“I’m pretty sure they’ve seen worse,” Sam noted.

*

Bucky stared at his ceiling wall, his mind running with memories of beige dust and shallow screams. He palmed his eyes trying to forget about the past, even though it constantly caught up with him. 

Turning in his bed, he grabbed his phone. The brightness of the screen illuminated his face, letting the insomnia take over. Bucky idly tapped at the keyboard. 

_ Writing classes in NYC _

_ 5.5k Results _

Bucky put his phone back on his nightstand, making sure to put the screen face down. It was too late for this. Too late for his mind to be running over all of the options of changes in his script. 

He would deal with it tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve adjusts to New York Life

Steve Rogers always preferred New York over LA. 

He always preferred the seasons over the slightly fluctuating temperatures between _ warm _ and _ extremely warm _ on the west coast; however, most of his jobs were stationed in the state of California. Most acting jobs are, really, but the preference of New York stemmed from the fact that he was born here in the heart of Brooklyn. Until he was ten, his mother and father worked in the heart of New York Presbyterian Hospital, as a nurse and x-ray tech respectively. He had some health issues growing up - but had the advantage of his parents knowing the right doctors and just being in the right place at the right time. 

Enough about his childhood. _ Enough _about how he was bullied for his size. Enough about the bullies who would push him down and not let him get up to push back. 

Steve Rogers was someone else now. An actor. He got lines, read them with emotion right at the camera and got paid. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this. He just wanted to do commercials or _ whatever _, have a job on the side and live a peaceful life. 

He was happy with it, don’t get him wrong. The accolades, the quick responses from casting directors, the mailed scripts. It was overwhelming and not at the same time. He loved making movies, but sometimes he just wanted to melt away into the background. Being a semi-famous actor, had its downsides. 

“Oh my God, is that Steve Rogers?” a random person said aloud as he ran past them in Central Park. 

Well, maybe not semi-famous. 

“Oh my god, that’s totally Steve Rogers!” another person exclaimed, and Steve pulled his cap down more, and ran a little faster. 

Maybe just famous. 

In LA, it was difficult to hide from the press. Every time he would get his groceries, or have a small dinner with his friends, _ they _would be there. It made him want to go into hiding for seventy years. Not like New York wasn’t the same, but considering there were almost double the amount of people, it was easier to blend. 

Easier because people weren’t looking for celebrities in New York. Most people just happen to stumble upon them living in their day to day. People in LA _ looked _for celebrities. Museum exhibitions, red carpets, award ceremonies. 

That’s probably why Steve Rogers like New York more. He could _ be _ Steve Rogers without being Steve Rogers. 

*

Steve wiped the sweat off his forehead as he walked into his apartment. It was nice, almost too nice, and practically swore at his manager when he unlocked his door. Clean, sleek, hardwood floors, and polished. _ Too _ polished. 

_ “ _ I asked for something simple, Natasha _ ,” _Steve said on the phone as he set down his suitcase. 

“_ I gave you something simple...and modern. No need for a shitty run down place,” _Natasha responded. 

“But I want a shitty rundown apartment_ .” _

“_ Stop living in the past, Steve. Enjoy it.” _

Enjoy the place. 

His manager meant well. As soon as he stepped into her office, more than a few months ago, she saw his face and groaned. 

_ “You’re...what? Thirty-two? There’s no way you’re retiring from the screen.” _

He had to explain over and over again that he wasn’t retiring. Not really. From the get go, Steve had been typecast. He was happy to get as many roles as he did - he wasn’t mad about that _ at all _. A job was a job. But when that job consisted of a script where it would instruct him to squint to the camera minimally three times in one page, it was getting tiring. He needed to have more stimulating jobs, and as many times as Natasha booked him auditions where he would be the grieving father of a slain child or the news reporter that would try and uncover the most heinous acts committing behind the curtain, the casting directors wouldn’t take him seriously. 

Steve sat down onto his couch with a cold glass of water and thought back on what happened in his last meeting with Natasha. 

_ “I can’t tell you how happy I am that we’re not doing this over the phone,” Natasha sat down behind her glass desk, and clicked her mouse on...something on her computer. _

_ “Have I gotten a call back from those films?” Steve asked. _

_ “You got a lot of positive notes.” _

_ “Anything...anything else?” _

_ Natasha sighed. It was one of those sighs she did when things were frustrating, and just didn’t have the heart to tell him up front. “They really liked you in that one movie where you did that thing with the bus.” _

_ “That was very specific. I’m glad they enjoyed that one very vague scene.” _

_ “Fuck ‘em.” _

_ “Well, the industry allows me to have a job and live somewhere. So...no.” _

_ “You just gotta keep going to auditions, Steve. You’ll book a serious film soon. Plus the studio is crossing their fingers for a ten episode series based on your last movie.” _

_ “The one where I hurl a shopping cart into the shopping center?” _

_ “The very same.” _

_ Steve sighed. “I wanted to punch that character in the face.” _

_ “That’s what most of the tweets under the movie’s hashtag said. Probably for different reasons.” _

_ “What other reasons could there be?” Steve furrowed his eyebrows, while Natasha raised hers. “You know what? Nevermind. Look,” Steve bit his lip. “I just want to be stimulated when reading lines. I want a script that I can go, ‘Why does he do _ that _ ? Rather being the actor that just...punches things.” _

_ Natasha grabbed her phone before leaning back in her chair. “Hm.” _

_ “What’s ‘hm’? I don’t like the way you just said ‘hm’.” _

_ “I...I think I have a contact.” _

_ “Contact to who?” _

_ “How do you feel about auditioning for a play?” _

_ “A play? Like out in New York?” _

_ “Well, unless you want to do small theater in Connecticut, I think New York is your best bet.” _

_ “Wait, are you serious?” _

_ “Think of this, Steve. You want to play more with scripts. You want to play more with the characters and their emotions and vulnerabilities so, why don’t you audition? I can set you up with a few classes to get you back into the swing of things, I can find you the closest apartment, this will get you so much good press I think and-” _

_ “Natasha, slow down,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “Do you really think I have a chance being in a play?” _

_ “You have as much of a chance as much as everyone else. An even playing field. Put in the work, and you will get results.” _

_ “I haven’t been in the theater scene since college,” Steve muttered. _

_ “Then we’ll get you into some classes. New York has classes for everything. Fight choreography, how to paint chairs, I don’t know. But, don’t you worry about that. Leave that to me. Give me...one month.” _

_ Steve pursed his lips together. “You don’t think I’m making the wrong career choice?” _

_ Natasha leaned forward. “No, I do, but your moral compass is more aligned than mine.” _

*

Steve washed up, and got into some comfortable clothes for a warm summer day. He tapped his iPad and opened the e-mails from Natasha, swiping through the run lines that he was given to audition with. The lines were...a lot. A lot more than he was used to - not so much in quantity, but quality. The nerves started to creep in. 

His iPad pinged with another email from Natasha. 

She had signed him up for a small monologuing class that would ‘_ pair him up with a writer, and deep dive into understanding the words on the page in collaboration with the writer themselves.’ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky figures out whether or not he should attend a writing class.

[THE DOCTOR SMILES RIGHT AS HE LOOKS AT DENVER. THE CAMERA CUTS TO DENVER PURSING HIS LIPS TOGETHER, AND SWEAT DRIPPING DOWN HIS FACE] 

**DENVER DARK**

Don’t fucking smile at me.

**THE DOCTOR**

Oh, it’s a great time to smile, Denver.

**DENVER DARK**

How do you know my name?

**THE DOCTOR**

How do I NOT know your name? You’ve been on my list to kill for  _ years _ , Denver. 

**DENVER DARK**

What did I ever do to you?

Bucky tapped on his keyboard, lightly to make sure he didn’t write anything more on the page. So he was here in this script, one hundred pages in, and practically only half way done. He just needed to get it down. The fire inside of him was lit, and was starting to burn quickly. He wanted,  _ needed  _ to finish this thing, but there was no end in sight. Bucky clicked on the outline that brought him back up to the beginning, and started to re-read because maybe, just maybe something from the beginning could help him with the end. 

**[A dark screen. FADE IN AUDIO of RADIO STATIC and CHANGING SIGNALS. FADE IN to a hand messing around with an OLD CAR’s radio. The FADE IN stops when MAN finds the right audio. DIEGETIC MUSIC plays from the radio. The camera pulls back revealing DENVER DARK - grifter, con artist, who has been on the road for years. He pulls out a cigarette, lights it, and then the camera pans out of the car, music becomes NON-DIEGETIC. The car pulls away. **

**Freeze Frame**

**Title**

**DENVER DARK - DESCENT INTO MADNESS - FIVE SECONDS ON SCREEN WITH MUSIC STILL BLARING**

**UNFREEZE FRAME, and we watch a car drive on an old dusty road. Overhead shot]**

DENVER DARK V.O. 

Welcome to my life. 

Bucky was wrong. 

There was a slight knock on the side of Bucky’s cubicle wall. “Knock, knock,” said a voice. A voice that just made Bucky roll his eyes every single time he heard it, and it happened more often than he linked since it belonged to his boss.

Scott Lang was  _ fine. _ He hired Bucky on the spot, with full benefits, and helped him get to where he needed to be as an accountant for his company. He would routinely boost the moral, hold countless meetings with his employees to make sure everything was going right, and annoy the ever living fuck out of Bucky Barnes. 

Bucky switched tabs on his computer. “Hi, Scott.”

There had been a long meeting when he first started, to  _ in fact _ not call Scott Lang “Mr. Lang” because Mr. Lang was his father and it kind of spiraled into a long winded story about how we should always listen to our elders, as most of his employers looked at each other awkwardly, not knowing when to leave.

So they all just stayed, listening to Scott’s monologue about his father’s whole life. 

“So, how it goes, Barnes?” Scott leaned on the wall of the cubicle. 

“It goes...it goes fine. Almost done with the Sitwell account. Just need to balance a few numbers here and there and then it’s due in for submitting.”

“See, this is what I’m talking about. You’re good. Quiet and menacing when you are at that computer, but good.”

“Thank you?” Bucky’s voice inflected. 

“I want you to take on the Lamiloli Account.”

“What?” Bucky was caught off guard. “That’s...that’s not what I am trained for. I’m trained for small balancing accounts that need an extra pair of eyes.”

“...and I’m looking for untapped potential. You have that untapped potential.”

“I really don’t think-” Bucky was cut off by Scott holding his hand up. 

“What you should be thinking is that you’re going to report to my office tomorrow morning for briefing on this account. You won’t be the only one on the team.”

*

Bucky dropped his bag by the door, and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge, only finding a few beers. Bucky noted that he would have to go to the store tomorrow if he wanted any dinner, but the stress of work was getting to him, and he just wanted to  _ relax _ . The apartment was quiet, meaning that Sam was either still at work or on a date.

Bucky sank into the couch, letting the tufted leather hold his body, and let his mind wander.

What was wrong with the script? What was he trying to do? Bucky wanted to do a character piece. Nothing groundbreaking in terms of plot, but an understanding of  _ who this person actually is.  _ Hell, the movie was titled  _ Denver Dark.  _ He was writing this script to appease the story and not the character. 

Bucky set his beer down and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was going to need help. 

Sam unlocked the door and walked in. “Oh, shit! You’re home before me. How’d that happen?”

“What do you mean?”

“It just turned five p.m.?” Sam questioned. 

“Oh, yeah,” Bucky nodded his head. “I got a promotion, and my boss sent me home early.”

“Holy shit,  _ Bucky! _ That’s amazing!” Sam put his hands into a touchdown position, more excited than his friend. “Why aren’t you excited? You don’t seem excited?” 

Bucky leaned forward in his seat and ran his hands down his face, and groaned. “This isn’t really what I thought my life would be like, post...post re-integrating back into civilian life.” 

“What did you think it would be?” Sam went into the kitchen and grabbed one of the beers. 

“I don’t know,” Bucky sighed. “I think I thought it would be  _ different.  _ I wouldn’t be taking orders from someone, I wouldn’t be regurgitating the same thing over and over again. I think I thought I was going to be something that  _ mattered.”  _

“In some small way it does, even if you don’t think so at times.”

“You don’t have to counsel me. I’m not your client.”

“I’m your friend, there’s a difference.” 

Bucky leaned back on the couch. “I’m going to have to stop writing the script.”

“Because of the new position?”

“I think so, yeah. It’s...not great. I don’t know where I got this idea that it’s good, and deserves to be finished.”

“Woah, woah, back it up. That script is definitely worth you finishing.”

“I think I just realized what it actually is, though. It absolutely cannot be changed.”

“Is it printed?”

“No.”

“Is it etched in stone?”

“No.” 

“Then it absolutely can be changed.”

Bucky groaned. 

Sam continued. “The position is worth it, Bucky. Sometimes we have to adjust our own work schedules to make our hobbies work.”

“Why are you always the voice of reason?” Bucky asked hypothetically.

“I’m pretty sure it’s my dulcet tones.”

“It’s a character study.”

“What?”

“The script. Like The Dude from  _ The Big Lebowski  _ or Taxi Driver from  _ Taxi Driver.” _

“Did you even see  _ Taxi Driver _ ?” 

“I  _ have _ seen  _ Taxi Driver _ , that’s how I know he’s a taxi driver.”

“You have never seen  _ Taxi Driver _ .” 

*

Bucky was once again in his bed, scrolling through the endless pit that was social media, trying to keep his mind distracted from work and that endless scroll that was nestled in his documents folder. There was nothing interesting other than the few posts of people that kept saying that a friend of a friend of a friend saw some Hollywood action star make his rounds through Central Park, but what celebrity  _ hasn’t _ ran through Central Park? 

Bucky switched to his Chrome tab and tried to hunt down the best and closest writing class he could find. 

It took him almost half an hour but there was something, almost hidden, that Bucky felt as though it was the perfect class for him. 

** _UNTAPPED: _ ** **A COLLABORATIVE AND IMMERSIVE CLASS TO BRING OUT THE BEST IN YOUR WRITING AND THEIR ACTING**

Bucky hummed in intrigue and clicked on the link. 

A class for character studies. 

*

His new daily work routine limited his use behind his personal computer, focus his attention to being part of the team that helped with the corporate account. He was so used to simply going through the motions, and working with a team felt so unnatural; he felt like he was the outsider with the others. Bucky wasn’t anti-social, he just preferred to work alone. Orders came in, he made sure to complete them, and report back. 

Work was more like the military in every which way. 

The day dragged on, but when five-o-clock hit, Bucky was out the door and right to the small undisclosed theater two subway rides away. 

The theater was different than the regular small independent places he used to sneak off to with his dates, granted this class had a NDA, and what class has a fucking NDA? Generally, there would be the stage - a shoddy and rickety platform that was only around a couple feet off the ground - with metal chairs with barely any padding on the seat that kind of looked like they were pulled from an abandoned school. This one, however, had every instance of feeling  _ real.  _ Large stage, stadium seating, and a table for each row for people to set their stuff. It was almost like it was previously a classroom, and never changed. 

Bucky made sure to drop his stuff off in the seat closest to the aisle. He wanted to be here, but he more or less wanted to  _ get out _ as quick as possible, because well. He felt out of place. 

Bucky was not Mr. Military, he wasn’t Mr. Office Worker. He was just.  _ Him. _ He always felt out of the loop, not quite connecting with others and well. He was just here to get help with his writing, not become best buds with the strangers that would eventually talk behind his back. 

There was one person in the back row, Bucky noticed, with an  _ LA Dodgers _ baseball cap settled nicely on his head. He was looking down, scrolling on his phone, in some comfortable sweats. Looked like an all above jock. 

As time inched closer, more and more people started to sit down. Some awkwardly hugged each other, some continued to stare at their phones, until the professor walked on stage. With a snap of his fingers, the lighting changed to a soft glow. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Steve have a conversation. Bucky gets paired with his acting partner.

Days ago, Steve Rogers received an email from Natasha. The class was all paid for and he was ready to be thrust into the throws of theater. He scrolled down to the bottom of the page, noting an extra post script. 

_ P.S. Please meet with the teacher to go over some things. I want you to have a little bit more of an immersive experience with this class. You’re not going full Jason Bourne on us but it might be a little bit easier when you’re not _ Action Star Steve Rogers _ and continuously signing autographs. Here’s his contact info. Get in touch and set up a time for a quick meeting. _

*

Steve took the long way to the theater - no subway, no taxis, just him and the pavement. Steve felt like he was being cooped up in the tiny space that was built just too small for him and needed to stretch his legs. 

Steve opened the door to the hidden theater. 

Door down an alleyway, completely renovated, stadium seating and tables that folded down into the backs of the seats to hide into the back of the chair. 

“Nice place, huh?” A voice came from Stage Left.

“It is,” Steve shoved his hands into his pockets. “Is this yours?” Steve was apprehensive. 

“Was my father’s,” the man speaking walked out on stage, in all black. The sides of his hair was greying, but the hair was styled lightly. He took off his sunglasses that he didn’t need to wear. “He passed it down to me in his will, and I decided to upgrade it a bit.”

“You did a nice job. Are you Tony?” Steve stepped forward.

“Right, introductions,” the man stepped off the stage. “Tony Stark. Manager of this hideaway theater, teacher, yadda yadda yadda, you get the idea,” he put his hand out to shake, and Steve accepted. “So, Mr. Movie Star, I hear you want to _ act _,” he stressed the last word.

“Steve Rogers, if we’re making introductions.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen your stuff,” Tony walked away and sat on the stage with his legs hanging over the edge. “You’re good.”

Steve sat down from the chair across from him. “Thank you.”

“But you can be better,” Tony pointed at him. “That’s why you’re making your way to the East Coast.”

“I guess you can say that?”

“Nat set you up with this whole thing, didn’t she?”

“Surprised she let you use that nickname. We’ve known each other maybe five years now, and I feel like I would be killed in my sleep if I ever called her that.”

“We go back a bit more than you, but I still check my security camera just in case.”

“So you didn’t know it was me that was coming here?”

“No, my wife just told me that I had an important meeting that an agent set up, so,” Tony shrugged. “Getting back on point, why did you come back to New York, Steve?”

“I want to get into the roots with reading scripts, understanding them. Understanding the writer’s process and...and putting it out there?”

“So you’re done with the action movies?”

“_ No _, no,’ Steve tried to reason with himself more than he did with Tony. “I think I just want to have a character where I don’t feel like I’m a puppet. Sometimes literally. Wire-work is annoying.” 

“Huh,” Tony chewed on the earpiece of his sunglasses.

“What does that mean?”

“What’d you major in college again?” 

“I got a BA in acting at UCLA.” 

“_ Huh. _”

“I still don’t know what you mean.” 

“_ Ninety-Degrees West,” _Tony mentioned his third movie.

“Yeah, what about it? Wait,” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, “this is not what the meeting was supposed to be about.”

“It’s not? This isn’t a private episode of _ Behind the Actor’s Studio? _”

“No - I just came to talk about how to address me in class?” Steve furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Well, there goes half of my questions. So, Steve-o how do you want me to address you in class?”

“Not that,” Steve sighed. “Look, I’m trying to do this for myself. I don’t want any paparazzi following me. I just want to have a class to study. I want to be me.”

“Well, I mean, you have to go up on stage with the class that Nat signed you up for. I mean. People are going to _ know _ it’s you.” Steve chewed on his lip. “How about an NDA? Lips are locked, can’t talk to the paps, can’t talk to news reporters about what happens behind closed doors? If I see anyone tweeting about you here I swear to God I’ll get Happy here and beat them up.”

“_ No unnecessary _violence.”

“Understood. Happy can’t even hurt a fly...and he was a professional boxer.”

“Great,” Steve sighed. “The NDA could work. A little excessive but...” Steve shrugged. “Maybe it could work. I don’t know. I just want to fly under the radar.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Tony smiled. “Now, do you want a coffee or anything? Do actors of your caliber drink coffee?”

“Yes, I still drink coffee. I even go to Starbucks if there isn’t a local coffee shop around.”

“Is my espresso machine local enough for you?” 

“Yes,” Steve laughed. 

*

Tony and Steve both sipped on some Americanos in the seats by the stage. “So, what do you want to know about _ Ninety Degrees West _?” Steve asked.

“Finally getting to the good stuff,” Tony said as he took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in the chair. “You make a lot of choices.”

“Thank...you?” 

“I mean,” Tony sighed, putting his coffee down and almost huffed. “Okay. There’s a lot of action in that film. Like almost too much. Kind of bloated, but whatever, not a film critic. There are two scenes that really stand out to me. Now, I’m a professional actor. Been in three episodes of _ Law & Order: S.V.U. _ all different characters - even had a _ Buzzfeed _ article about it. Beside the point. You’re talking to that girl, she has snot coming down her face, you have blood practically in your eye -”

“Ah, yes, that scene,” Steve nodded his head slightly.

“That speech where you say, _ ‘Right now you are confirming what other people think of you, but sometimes you need to blow those expectations out of the water _ ’ - crushed it. That’s why I’m not surprised to see you here. Those - what - twenty-four words was the first time I saw you _ act _ and not just act and throw punches.” 

“Well, thank you. I’m glad that you enjoyed it. Critics were pretty harsh.”

“Well, the writing was a mess. You managed to bring that writing back from Hell,” Tony shifted in his seat. “Remember Rogers, there is more than one part to being in a film. It all depends on the directors, writers, _ hell _ even the props department. So _ fuck _ the critics.”

“Even if they were hot?” Steve jokes.

“_Even_ if they were hot. Look, If you don’t think you’re worthy, _you’re_ _worthy_ of being here. You have potential. Just need a little bit of a kickstart.”

Steve smiles tightly. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t let that statement get to your head,” Tony winked and got up from his seat, and grabbed his coffee. “Class starts 7 P.M. Thursday. . I’ll send those NDAs through email and kind of just say ‘_ Hey everyone! We don’t want your writing or acting to be tainted by the outside world. Let’s keep what happens inside the Actors Studio’ _and then maybe have like a wink-y emoji or whatever your generation does.”

“Why do I think you use the eggplant emoji on a regular basis though?”

“Oh, you’re good,” Tony started to walk down the stairs, and took another sip of his coffee as he walked toward the back of the room. “I do, though. See you Thursday!” Tony yelled and the door closed. 

Steve guessed the meeting was over.

*

Emails were sent out and Steve found himself walking up to the stowed away theater. He was the first one there, thankfully, and managed to get the seat furthest away from anyone. He tugged his hat down, and leaned forward on the table that was set in front of him and just scrolled through Twitter as people walked in. People set their bags down, sometimes hugging the person nearest to them, and some opened their computers. 

Was he supposed to bring his computer?

He had his phone. That should be enough. 

Steve looked up to see someone looking at him, so Steve sighed, and pulled his hat down just a little further and slumped further down in his seat. 

*

Tony walked across the stage, and snapped his fingers to dim the lights. A single light encompassed him, with it following him as he slowly walked back and forth across the stage. 

“Acting and writing. The two are compliments in the world of theater, performance art, _ film, _” Tony’s eyes briefly made contact with Steve’s - he could have sworn he winked at him, and it took almost took all of Steve’s will not roll his eyes. “If we don’t have language, we, as actors, cannot express, emot-” Tony snapped his fingers again, the lights became brighter, “-ion. That’s why we all signed up for this class. To get a better grasp of the art.” He sat down at the edge of the stage. “Raise your hand if you’re a writer?”

Steve saw about half the class raise their hands, and got a glimpse of the other man with the messenger bag raise his hand. 

“Actors?” Tony asked, and Steve raised his hand. 

“Half and half. Perfect symmetry. Makes it easy not to have a threesome,” Tony got up from his seat, “which is a shame. Anyways,” Tony walked behind the curtain and wheeled out a small bowl filled with some strips of paper. 

People’s names kept getting called, and as they were paired up, they moved and switched seats. Bucky thankfully wasn’t really seated by many people so he didn’t have to move until the teacher called out his name. 

“Buckets Barnes?” The teacher furrowed his eyebrows, and looked closer at the page. “Is your name really...Buckets?”

“No,” Bucky sighed. “James, technically, but I go by Bucky.”

“Ah, I see it now,” the professor took another slip of paper out of the other bowl. “Alright, Bucky, you’re with...Steve. Right there. L.A. Dodgers cap,” the teacher points to the jock in the back corner. Bucky looked back and saw the guy now pinching the bridge of his nose. Bucky nodded slightly to the professor and waited for something to happen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky meet for the first time. It's a bit awkward.

Bucky waited for what felt like  _ hours _ , but in the back of his mind knew that Steve had no intention of moving from his seat. He sighed. 

_ It’s really gonna be like that, is it?  _ Bucky thought as he picked his messenger bag up, and moved to the seat nearest to Steve, so he could talk to him without straining his neck. Small chatter filled the room before the professor,  _ I think his name is Tony? _ , clapped his hands to get everyone’s attention. 

“Okay, okay.” Small talk is now on a pause. This class is once a week. Writers - discuss with your actors what you’re trying to get out of this whole thing. Actors - same spiel. We will use the rest of today for ice breakers and your first writing and acting assignment - humor! Make me laugh with those monologues.” Everyone just looked at Tony. “What are you looking at me for? Get to creating!” 

People started to talk quietly again.

“So, uh,” Bucky took his laptop out of his bag, positioned it on the table, and clicked on a new blank document. Steve was still quiet. “My name is Bucky - James. Just call me Bucky. It’ll be easier. Forget I said James. I’m a full time accountant.” he cleared his throat. He watched Steve clench his jaw, letting the ligaments in his face practically pop, from underneath his beard.

“Steve. Actor,” Steve said, quickly. 

“Oh, full time?”

“Kind of,” he sighed. “I’m a...waiter, too.” 

“They kind of go hand in hand, don’t they?” Bucky questioned lightly.

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a few more moments. 

  


_ This _ , Steve thought,  _ is stupid. I shouldn’t have come to New York. I should have stayed across the country, taken that shitty sci-fi job where all I had to do was wear some SFX makeup, say a few lines, get the check, and move on to the next. I’m just another pawn in the game. I was just - _

“-a full time accountant,” his scene partner said. He missed his name.  _ What was it? Janky? Bames? No. That’s not it at all. _

He saw the guy’s eyebrows raise, waiting for something.

_ Right.  _

_ Back to the present.  _

“Steve, an actor,” he sighed. He watched the man next to him type out something on the document in front of him. 

“Oh, full time?”  _ Fuck, what was his name? _ , Steve kept questioning himself. The other man sighed. 

“Kind of…” Steve paused. He didn’t want to expose himself too much. “I’m a waiter too,”  _ Way to pick something obvious.  _

“They kind of go hand in hand, don’t they?” the other man’s tone was light, but Steve didn’t really react to he said. Steve stewed in his thoughts, but remembered he wasn’t in his own home to do so. 

“So,” the man cleared his throat. 

“Right. Monologue.” 

“Yeah,” he shifted in his seat. “Okay so humor. You’re an actor. Have you done anything of that vein? Slapstick? Improv?”

“Sketch?” Steve said, almost questioning himself. “College, uh, almost ten years ago. One of our productions was just a bunch of sketches. Have you written any humor?”

“Just a few lines here and there in some of my personal stuff.”

Steve blew out a breath from his mouth. “Cool.” 

“So, humor. Humor, humor, humor,” the other man lightly tapped his keyboard, the slight clicking of the keys going right to Steve’s ears. “How do you feel about sarcasm?”

“It’s just another weird subset of humor.”

“Thanks, professor,” he replied, with no inflection. 

Steve pinched his nose. “Okay, I think sarcasm could work. Are we going to spin in it any way?” 

“Well, why don’t we do it in a way where you’re talking to someone, maybe?”

“How original,” Steve muttered before he could stop the words coming out of his mouth. He pursed his lips, trying to hold back whatever tried to come out next. All he heard was the other man, sigh and close his laptop. “Hey, I-”

“Look, I get it. Being too big for this class.”  _ God _ dammit _ what was his name?!  _ said as he stood up and flattened out his pants and placed his computer into his bag. 

“Sorry, my mouth gets in front -”

“Don’t have to apologize. I’ll email you the finished work. Have fun auditioning for  _ Law and Order _ ,” he put his messenger back on his shoulder. “See you next week, if you’re still enrolled, with the class or whatever,” the man said before he walked down the stairs. He gave a curt wave to Tony and behind the door he went. 

  


“Okay,” Sam took a sip of his beer at the crowded bar, “it couldn't have been that bad.” He leaned back into the padded seating. 

“No, it was  _ bad,  _ bad. He completely looked like he didn’t want to be there. He’s this random nobody actor who thinks he’s better than the whole class. Probably looks at a script and turns his nose away.”

“I’m sure he meant well?” Sam tried to reason. 

“ _ How original,” _ Bucky mocked Steve’s tone. “Fucking Christ. How does that mean well? He was clearly on his high horse and couldn’t find his way off before getting his words in front of him.” 

“What’s the assignment?”

“Humor. I suggested sarcasm, since it’s kind of a subset of humor.”

“Cool take,” Sam noted. 

“Thanks,” Bucky took a swig of his beer. “I think it’s all going to be about a professor talking to his student.” 

“Kind of like you trying to get through someone’s thick skull?” Sam chuckled.

“Look, I’m a psuedo-writer. I channel my emotions into what I produce. Can’t be bothered by his lack of enthusiasm. I did my part,” Bucky shrugged. “Plus, I think he forgot my name.”

“Okay, that’s inexcusable. What’s his name again?”

“Steve. Some no-name actor he is. I bet it’s fake,” Bucky pointed to Sam with the top of his beer bottle. “I bet it’s one of those stage names and his real name is like...I don’t know, Regis.” 

Sam laughed. “You think he changed his name to something as bland as Steve? They would probably  _ change _ it to Regis just to have casting directors remember that stupid name.”

“I’m still putting money down that it’s Regis.” 

“Let’s shake on it.”

Bucky held out his hand, and Sam gave him a firm handshake. “If I win, you owe me a dinner at Del Friscos.”

“...and if his name isn’t actually Steve?”

Bucky squinted his eyes, and sighed. “I’ll go see Carousel with you,  _ but _ same-day ticket prices. No front row seating.”

“Doesn’t matter, it costs the same for both,” Sam clapped his hands in excitement. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve performs Bucky's first class monologue.

** **

** **

**DENVER DARK**

Don’t fucking smile at me.

**THE DOCTOR**

Oh, it’s a great time to smile, Denver.

**DENVER DARK**

_ Especially  _ when you’re tied up to an uncomfortable chair. Makes me so happy I want to cry.

**THE DOCTOR**

Very funny. 

[THE DOCTOR LEANS OVER IN THE CHAPTER AND GRABS HOLD OF DENVER'S CHIN] 

**THE DOCTOR**

We can wipe those tears right off your face

[T HE DOCTOR’S VOICE DROPS AND BECOMES MORE SINISTER]

So when they show your dead body on television, they can just see your troubled eyes.

Bucky leaned back in his chair. After a week of working out the short monologue for the class, he slowly dived back into the screenplay. It...was almost working better. Work, on the other hand was killing him slowly. The monotony of filing, the crunching of numbers. 

He was staying in his office late - all because he had a class to go to at the end of the day. His co-workers didn’t seem to prod or pry. When he was at his desk he kept to himself; mostly just tapping away numbers and whenever he was scrolling through the script document, he managed to turn his laptop  _ just  _ enough away that if they happened to stop by his desk they wouldn’t know what he was doing.

Not like he was writing porn.

Again.

*

Throughout the week he had been thinking of the sour interaction. The way Steve didn’t even  _ try _ to work with him, the way he just shoved his ideas into a metaphorical trash can. It just felt so. 

_ Ugh. _

Everyone else seemed to have partners who worked with them and were constructively vocal, but of course someone had to draw the short stick, and get paired with someone they didn’t like. That was his life though, wasn’t it?

Always drawing the short stick?

Always the one looking at the people who were succeeding and wishing that it was him, wishing that he was the one that was not looking at the horror that was his time serving. Looking at the world passing by with people smiling for no reason. 

Like always, Bucky would have to suck it up, stand up tall, push the sadness below, and move on. 

Because that’s what he always did. 

Always just kept on moving forward. 

A few days ago, the professor, Tony, emailed the writers specifically and made sure to gather up all the monologues to distribute, and tonight, he would see his words performed by Steve with all the dripping sarcasm that he had hoped for, because if he was going to keep moving forward, he was going to complete this class, write this damn script, and just say  _ fuck it _ , and move to Hollywood.

*

“Well, how about that one! Give it up for,” Tony looked at his class sheet, “Wanda and Vis!” Tony gave a small round of applause with the class following. “Who knew you could combine Shakespeare and The Three Stooges.” Wanda stepped off the stage and sat back down and gave, who Bucky could only assume who was Vis, a high five. “Look for your notes in your email and we will discuss next week,” Tony clicked his pen a few more times. “Alright, next up is Steve and Barnes,” Tony turned around and gave a thumbs up. 

Steve sighed, tightened his baseball cap, and walked down the stairs and onto the stage. Bucky saw him turn his hat around, and a smattering of light whispers across the audience started. 

“Quiet down, quiet down,” Tony interjected, before waving his hand to Steve. “You can start again, Steve.”

“Thanks,” Steve said lightly before he got into position, shoved his hands in his pockets, and started to walk around. Steve cleared his throat. “I didn’t hit your car,” he turned around to the other side of the stage quickly, “What happened, _ officer, _ is that  _ this _ person was driving  _ oh so gracefully.  _ So much like their tires were on skates and skidded to the side of the road. Almost like they weren’t paying  _ attention _ ,” Steve put his hands up in defense, like someone was giving him a look. “Okay, okay I’m trying to keep my cool,” Steve lowered his hands and placed them in his pockets. “Can you check his phone? I swear he was texting and driving, unless your dick had a  _ oh so hilarious  _ joke to say?” 

There was small laughter throughout the class. 

Steve put his hands up and walked away again. “Okay, I swear I’m done. Unless your dick has a stand up routine set on Youtube. I’m gonna want to know it’s username.”

The class laughed more, and the lights went up. Steve smirked slightly and walked off the stage and walked back up to where he was sitting.

_ Huh, not bad. _

“Let’s give a round of applause for Steve and Barnes for their work!” The class followed Tony’s instructions. “Look for your notes in your email later this week for both.” 

Bucky nodded his head at Tony. He was pretty taken aback by Steve’s performance. “Nice job on the monologue. Sorry it was kind of short,” Bucky said quietly, as Tony introduced the next set of people. Before Steve could reply, Tony clapped his hands. 

“Alright, let’s give it up for the class, and begin the exercises for the week. Everyone stand up.”

They followed, with Steve and Bucky facing each other. Steve’s hat was still flipped backwards, allowing his face to finally not be covered by the shadows. 

He looked good. 

He looked familiar. 

Bucky squinted slightly, just enough so Steve wouldn’t notice. 

“Okay, take two steps back and stop,” Tony instructed as he climbed on top of the stage. “We’re going to mirror each other. Yes, this is probably what you do in your improve 101 classes, that I know you all take, but just go with the flow.”

People kept whispering. They kept talking to their scene partners, about...something. 

“I can’t believe it’s actually him. Why is he taking a class like this?” and “He doesn’t need to prove anything to us,” was heard over and _over and over _**_and over_** again. 

“You with me, Bucky?” he heard Steve say.

“Huh?” Bucky snapped to the present. “I mean, yeah. Did I miss something?”

“Just start moving your hands, and I’ll follow,” Steve said, his voice flat. 

Bucky followed, circling his hands in front of him, and Steve following his movements. “How was your week? Drop any plates of food on people?” He sees Steve furrow his eyebrows slightly in confusion, and then take a breath.

“Oh, uh. No, thankfully. Drinks on the other hand. Let’s just say, I got an earful from the manager about a very expensive ruined tie.”

Bucky continued making hand motions. “Was it the vintage red wine that came from the cellar?”

“Worse.  _ Water _ .”

Bucky gave a fake gasp. “Oh,  _ how dare you.” _

Steve chuckled quietly. “Other than that, it’s been pretty quiet in terms of acting jobs,” Steve paused. “So, you’re a writer. In New York. I’m guessing trying to make it big as a novelist, slash venturing into play territory?”

“Trying to be a screenwriter, actually. I’m an accountant by day.”

“Sound fun,” Steve replied. 

“Eh,” Bucky shrugged, and Steve followed, until Tony clapped his hands, and motioned for everyone to switch. “Just pushing numbers around, nothing special.”

The conversation between the two of them died out, as the class went on. Tony eventually called the exercise to end, explaining that both the writer and actor had to work together. 

Bucky took a deep breath, grabbed his messenger bag, and started to pack up his notebook. Tony said something along the lines of  _ drama _ . 

“Drama and this is a conversation between two people, so writers, submit your dramatic conversations by Sunday, and actors? Choose someone here in the class, and we’ll act it out next week,” Tony instructed, and waited like he was being served a drink. “That’s the end of the class,” Tony waited some more. “Please leave.”

Some people laughed as everyone finished packing their things up, and Bucky was on his way out so he could sit in his room and type. 

“I think I pissed off my scene partner last week,” Steve said as he lay on his couch in the comfort of his own apartment.

_ “How so? _ ” Natasha’s voice sang through the phone.  _ “Did you insult his mom or something? Not really like you to do that.” _

“I didn’t insult his mom, I swear.” 

_ “Did he not agree with you, politically?” _

“I don’t know what his political affiliations are. I just learned his name this week.” 

_ “How’d that happen?” _

“I spaced out last week, and it got too late in the class to ask what his name was and it just didn’t go up from there. I think my tone was snappy and didn’t really sit well with him."

_ “It wouldn’t sit well with anyone.” _

“Good thing for that NDA.”

_ “So how was he this week? _ ”

“He didn’t say goodbye, but we cracked a few jokes here and there.” 

_ “Well, you can’t please everyone Rogers.”  _

“I can try.”

_ “You can try, and ultimately fail. Not everyone is going to like you, just like not every casting director, producer, director -”  _

“I get the point, Natasha.”

_ “ - PA, sound editor, foley artist -” _

“Okay, I’m hanging up the phone. Great talk, Natasha. Really keeping my spirits up with your love for...everything. Goodbye,” Steve tapped the red button and dropped the phone on the couch. A small text tone emanated from...somewhere and Steve dug for his phone that fell through the crevices of the couch. ‘ _ Can’t please everybody!’  _ was what he saw in the text preview before practically chucking it back into the depths of his sofa.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve takes a break from his cramped apartment and goes to see a play. Steve reminisces about his past.

Two days passed without anything from his class, so Steve decided to venture to the back alleys and hidden treasures of art. Steve thrived on the energy that was produced. Performance art that mixed interpretive dance with classic monologues that went on simultaneously, the off-off-off-off Broadway productions of comedy acts that  _ really _ should be Netflix specials, or the modernized productions of plays long forgotten. 

He loved it all.

His mother was the one to introduce him to the scene very young. Some would say too young, but it was New York, so who really gave a shit. If you paid attention and didn’t ruin anyone else’s experience, others were just happy that you were being  _ cultured _ and being introduced to things that weren’t the Disneyfication of Times Square. 

Steve tapped on the keyboard on his computer, searching for those long forgotten venues that housed such productions. He found one within the vicinity, and was thankful that he didn’t have to take three subways. 

Just a short twenty minute walk. 

*

There were only a few people in the theater, six or seven at most, but if Steve was being honest, that was a lot. There was so much to do in New York, and gathering this many people (even if it was just family and friends) was a respectable feat in itself. 

The show was marketed as a dramatized version of a film with a  _ twist _ . The twist being that they didn’t tell you which film was being dramaticized, and you didn’t know the twist. Completely blind.

He guessed that was the fun of it. 

Steve sat down, water bottle in hand, towards the back. He was still sporting a baseball cap and a windbreaker. It seemed to be his go-to for public wear. 

Not that what he wore in private was anything different. 

The main lights came down, and the stage lights came up. A set that looked familiar. Some small stage combat happened, flashing lights, thunder, and then the sound of heavy rain. 

Two men huddled close - one with his back against the wall, imitating crying, and the other guy checking the perimeter. 

“Oh I love this movie,” someone said softly in the audience.

It was one of Steve’s.

Specifically,  _ Ninety Degrees West.  _

_ “Right now you are confirming what other people think of you, but sometimes you need to blow those expectations out of the water,”  _ the actor who was kneeling at the other man. “ _ Right now, you have to stand up, grab that gun and prove yourself to the world that you have always been worthy.”  _

More thunder.

And they kissed. 

The men deepened the kiss, before they broke, and he handed the man against the wall the fake gun. He looked down and looked at the gun. The man nodded and got up and they both ran off the stage. 

The lights came up, people clapped, the actors bowed and waved and stood there. 

“Thank you for coming to our little show! Next week we are still making our way through the filmography of Steve Rogers’ work, but as always, we’re going to keep you in the dark with the next movie! Only a few more left until we finish. Hopefully he makes more soon,” the actor chuckled. 

The man next to him nodded his head. “Did you hear that he’s taking a break from movies, though?”

This was it.

This was Steve’s own worst nightmare.

Not the two guys making out - in all honestly the film could have benefited from having the main hero and his love interest be either two women, or two men, or something other than a bland relationship that the studio pushed hard for.

Steve’s own worst nightmare was that he was watching people perform his stuff with honesty, clarity and  _ vigor _ and he was there, trying to hide. Trying to escape the words he had to immerse himself in for the better part of ten years. 

He wanted a show that he could use as a tool for escapism and not a way to introspectively look at his own downfall of a career. The actors left the stage, and Steve clapped quietly before practically running out of the theater. 

*

Steve Rogers came out as bisexual, publicly, in college. People were supportive, some were not. The nature of today. Those who were not, Steve broke ties with - he tried not to care. But, as he grew up and into the acting scene, gathering as many action roles as he could, he felt as though his sexuality was something that didn’t need to be brought up. He would lightly mention it once in a while to reporters, but it was never displayed large. People online picked up on it. Debates occurred regarding whether or not he was dating said guy he mentioned, and if they always would talk about him being private about his sexuality and whether or not it was beneficial or hurtful towards the community. 

Steve stayed away from the internet. 

He did have a whirlwind romance with Peggy Carter. 

Peggy. 

Pegs. 

She was the love of his life. 

They adored each other. 

They adored the life they started to build. Red carpets, bringing her close for a few public kisses. Late nights at the bar, sitting in the darkest corner trying to not to get recognized. It was like she saw who Steve was and wasn’t. As though Steve was 95 pounds soaking wet, again, sucking on his inhaler, and she didn’t give a care in the world. That he wasn’t just the All-American action movie star, but just a guy who really liked a girl. 

The like started to go away. 

It started when they were in bed. Steve would move closer, wanting to wrap his arms around her body, to get closer. 

But he would wake up to an empty bed during her days when she wasn’t shooting. 

Early mornings would turn into late nights, which in turn prompted Steve to have to schedule to see her. 

They met at their apartment one day, on the balcony of an apartment building that should have never been bought. They were both leaning on the iron railing, looking at the cars driving by, not really caring if paparazzi caught them, because to them it was just like they were watching the world go by, rather than breaking up. 

The tabloids picked up on their separation. 

** _Steve Rogers spotted picking up groceries alone!_ **

** _Is Peggy Carter bringing boxes of her stuff out of Steve Rogers’ apartment?!_ **

** _Is hottie Steve Rogers back on the market again?_ **

** _Has Peggy Carter found herself a new man? _ **

The last bit of news he heard from Peggy, a couple years after they broke up, was that she was engaged. 

He was happy for her. 

She moved on, and so could he. 

Maybe that’s why Steve Rogers was here. Maybe that’s why he needed to get to New York, across the country. To move on. 

To move on, and become this New York actor who wanted to put out the vibe of  _ “Oh, yeah. I’m a slut for theater. Give me monologues with performance art, and you can sign me up.” _

*

That night, Steve was lying in bed, with the fan on, letting the air ghost over his body. His mind kept drifting back to the kiss between the two men that they had shared on stage. The private, yet not private moment that was between the two of them. 

The moment of roughness.

Maybe that was what he was missing - those moments of roughness, the moment of excitement - to share with someone else.

Maybe. 

Steve looked at the clock. 11P.M.

New York was just waking up, and maybe he could wake up with it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve talk things out.

** **

** **

**THE DOCTOR**

I have your girl.

**DENVER DARK**

_ LIAR!  _

**THE DOCTOR**

Do you want the live feed?

[THE DOCTOR FLICKS A SWITCH, TURNING ON AN OLD TELEVISION SET, REVEALING A RED HAIRED WOMAN, WITH A CLOTH GAG IN HER MOUTH, MASCARA BLEEDING DUE TO SWEAT AND TEARS. SHE SEES SOMETHING - A RED DOT OR A CAMERA RECORDING - AND REACTS BY SCREAMING, TRYING TO GET ATTENTION, EVEN THOUGH SHE IS ALONE]

**THE DOCTOR**

Believe me now?

The glow of Bucky’s computer bounced off of his face. He was distracting himself from the monologue, by writing his script. 

He really didn’t want to think about the monologue. It had to be different. 

It had to be better. 

Longer and better. 

He was in the writing zone until Sam opened his door, letting the light drifting into his room.

“You’re becoming a hermit,” Sam said as he leaned on the frame of the door. 

“I’m not,” Bucky swiveled in his chair, facing Sam, “becoming a hermit. I’m just trying to get some time to write. Work has been pulling me away from my computer.”

“Dude, it’s Saturday at 11P.M.”

“I don’t see your point.”

“The point is, is that we should go out!” Sam flicked on Bucky’s light, and he tried not to wince in the sudden change of light. “We should be making out with hot people! Come on, let’s get you laid!” 

“The last time you were my wingman, I ended up getting stood up in the guy’s  _ own apartment. _ ”

“You’re dramatizing it. It wasn’t  _ that _ bad.”

“He literally just went to bed without telling me. I will still in his living room.” 

“Okay, okay. Bad lapse of judgement.” 

“Very bad.”

“How about this -  _ I _ want to get laid.” 

“You’re more than able to do that on your own.”

“Just come out with me. The script can wait!” 

“But, I’m on a roll.”

“You’ve written three lines.” 

Bucky sighed, and spun back around to his desk. He looked at the document, and just shut his computer. “Fine.”

“Wingman?”

“I’ll be yours.” 

“Okay,  _ fine. _ Next time, I’m yours.” 

*

The club was loud and Bucky couldn’t hear anything, and the lighting of the club made it difficult to see anyone or anything clearly. The alcohol was expensive and people were doing cocaine in the bathroom. 

It was your average night at your typical club.

Nothing special, really.

Sam was chatting up this blond-haired woman who was feigning interest. Sam noticed, and tried to keep the conversation alive by asking her if she wanted a drink. The woman responded by just walking away. Sam sighed and walked back over to Bucky. 

“Zero-and-two for Wilson - you’re about to strike out,” Bucky chuckled. 

“It’s because you’re being a shitty sidekick,” Sam retorted as he sipped his drink.

Bucky kicked back the rest of his drink before speaking again. “I’m not a shitty sidekick, as we are currently on the same level.”

“I bet -”

“Don’t you dare, Wilson.”

“I bet you can’t pick up anyone for me.”

“Really? We’re going to turn my own willingness to come out to this shitty club to help you get laid into a few bucks?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fuck it. Twenty bucks.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it. Because, if I get you a date, I can get myself a coffee.”

*

Sam kept insisting that it was okay to stay, but as soon as they walked to the apartment door and put his hand on his handle, Sam gave Bucky a twenty dollar bill. Bucky grabbed his computer bag, and led himself out the door. 

*

Only in NYC would you find a cafe that would be open in the middle of the night. 

He was thankful. 

Granted, he felt bad for the people that had to serve the annoying tourists at one in the morning. Bucky tapped on his computer for a little bit, before dividing his attention to the people that walked by the open windows. Some drunk college students that stumbled past, laughing harder than they should, some older couples coming back from a night on the town - looking at the smiles on their face that probably hadn’t been there since their younger days - some guy, who was much taller than the few people that walked past, was staring deeply into his phone and almost collided with another incoming group of people, before ducking into the cafe. 

Bucky turned his attention back to his screenplay again, trying to ignore the most annoying and lively conversation he had ever heard at one in the morning. The espresso machine flipped on. He started to feel as though his senses were going into overdrive. The smell from the ground coffee, the sound from the two tourists, the bright screen the -

“Bucky?” a man asked. He knew that voice. Bucky lowered the computer screen and faced Steve. 

All of New York, out of all of the cafes, all of the time to go out on the town, and it had to be here. 

Fate was a cruel mistress. 

The two people that sat behind Bucky, suddenly became quiet and giggled softly. Bucky looked around and watched the two girls wave, giggle some more and Steve waved back. 

“Do you know them?” Bucky asked. 

“No?” Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “What’s up? It’s the middle of the night - didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Could ask you the same thing. You come here often?”

“About once a week, honestly.”

“Huh.”

“Can I sit?”

Bucky sighed. Steve looked tired. Steve looked, behind those big blue eyes, like he had worries of someone that was alive for over a hundred years, and definitely did not stare at him for longer than necessary. “Sure. Grab a seat.”

Bucky kept typing away at his computer as Steve’s coffee was prepared. The barista brought his drink over with slightly trembling hands. As he set down the cup, Bucky heard the small voice of the barista saying “ _ Here you go, sir,” _ and Steve replying, “Thank you, but just call me Steve.”

“So,” Steve took a sip of his frothy coffee, “you have completely avoided answering my questions.”

Bucky looked over his computer screen, and shut it slightly, so the screen was still lit. “My roommate is hooking up with someone.”

“Ah.”

“You?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Too many  _ Law & Order  _ lines to read? Or did you spill another glass of red wine on a customer?”

“Neither, shockingly enough. I saw a play.”

“Alright, Mr. Moneybags, calm down.”

“No, not on Broadway. Local rendition of  _ Ninety Degrees West. _ ”

“That...that action film from like three years ago?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. 

Steve looked at Bucky for a few moments longer than he should have, before saying anything. “Yeah. The one with the bridge collapsing into the river? The villain can somehow hold his breath for like...ten minutes?”

Bucky snapped his fingers. “Yes, that’s the one. I was really high during that time.”

“Sounds pretty on par for the movie goers for that one. Anyway,” Steve sighed before taking another sip. “The theater put on a production of the movie but had two men as the main leads, during the romantic part? In the rain?”

"Are you homophobic or some shit?” Bucky leaned in. “If you’re homophobic I swear to  _ Christ _ , we can’t work together.”

“ _ No! _ ” Steve said almost too loud. He paused, took a deep breath, and looked back at the barista, who wasn’t paying attention and on his phone. Steve leaned in before whispering. “No. Far from it actually. I’m bisexual.” 

Bucky leaned forward. “Why are you whispering?” he whispered back.

Steve just stared back, shaking his head slightly. “Nevermind. Do  _ you _ have a problem with that?”

“Well, considering that I do enjoy the company of men, no,” Bucky’s words were at a normal speaking level. Steve looked back, the barista still not paying attention. 

“What are you writing?”

Bucky opened up his computer. “Well, it’s supposed to be our drama submission for the class, but nothing’s really working. Can’t quite get the words out. Wait,” Bucky put his hand out. “We totally glossed over why you didn’t like this rendition at this shitty theater piece.”

“I never said I didn’t like it.”

“Alright, Steve spit it out. What’s got your boxers in a bunch?”

“It was better than the movie.”

Bucky stared at Steve. “That’s it? That’s your gripe with the rendition? That it was better?”

Steve sighed. “It just. It just worked so much better than the movie. The speech. It’s all about being who you are but also at the same time  _ letting  _ people know who you are. The narrative that the movie displayed was so fucking bland.  _ So fucking bland _ ,” Steve sat back in his chair. “The two men made the speech better because it was understanding who you are and not letting anyone take shit for it, and the fact that a man was trying to explain that to a woman while making it seem like it was feminism -”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Bucky put his hand out to stop Steve from crushing his mug. “Hollywood is sexist and gross, not new information, Steve.”

Steve bit his lip, looking like he was trying to hold back more words from spilling out. 

“Do you want to take a walk?”

“What about the monologue.?”

‘We have time,” Bucky shut his computer, and placed it into his backpack. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

*

The air was cooler than normal, and Bucky could smell the incoming rain that was out in the distance. People walked around the both of them, not caring that they were walking slowly. 

Bucky liked the city at night.

It was nicer. 

More forgiving.

He looked over at Steve who had his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders up to his ears. Bucky internally rolled his eyes. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick to you,” Bucky adjusted his backpack on his shoulders.

“What?”

‘I’m sorry if I have been a dick to you. You know. General one word responses, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Oh,” Steve nodded his head. “No, you haven’t. I have.”

“Oh,” was all that Bucky said in return. 

“That first day we met, I was really nervous, and I guess that shifted into displaced moodiness.”

“Displaced moodiness? Is that even a thing?”

“No, but I think I just coined a term.”

Bucky chuckled, as Steve looked at him. “It takes me a while to warm up to people.”

“Have I melted your frozen core?”

“Please do not tell me you use that as a pick up line.”

Steve laughed. “Thankfully no. Granted I haven’t been in the dating scene lately so I can't really use it on someone when there is no one.”

“Long term relationship ended?”

Steve looked at Bucky with slight amusement. “Yeah, a few years. Moved in together, and then it just. Phased out. By the time it was over, I was staying in a very large one bedroom apartment alone.”

“Sounds like hell,” Bucky said with sarcasm. 

“Enough about me. How about you, Bucky? What’s your story?”

“Just a sidekick in the main character’s story. Nothing special.”

“C’mon, even the sidekick has an origin.”

Bucky blew out his breath through his mouth. “Well. Went overseas for a short while. Fucked up my arm, was encouraged by my physical therapist to pick up writing for small motor movement work, and here we are. Or at least that is the Spark Notes version.”

“Certainly not as long as  _ Infinite Jest _ ,” Steve chuckled. “Well, thank you for your service.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re welcome. Didn’t feel as though it was much though. Didn’t really feel that it was worth...all of this,” Bucky kind of just gestured at nothing in particular.

“Can’t really put my two cents in. I’m sorry.” Steve raised his eyebrows. Bucky stopped in front of some stoop. 

“Y’know, you’re the first person to really say that?” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Most people offer advice. ‘ _ Go to group! Go to therapy! Go fuck a guy in a river, you’ll feel better I promise!”  _ Bucky sat down on the stoop, and Steve followed suit, and sat right down, next to him, two stairs up.

“Fucking a guy in a river sounds pretty great, though,” Steve offered. 

“Honestly? It does,” Bucky laughed and leaned back looking upwards at Steve. He noticed the door number behind the blonde man. “Oh, shit, I managed to take us back to my apartment. It’s pretty quiet. I couldn’t take their screaming.”

“I mean, who would? Unless you’re into voyeurism,” Steve offhandedly mentioned.

“Nope, not my thing,” Bucky raised his hands in defense. “Anyway, it’s getting pretty late.”

“Oh,” Steve said softly, and then shook his head lightly. “ _ Oh.  _ I’m so sorry for sitting down,” Steve got up, and wiped the dust from his jeans. “I should probably get back home anyway. It’s getting late. I have an audition in a few hours.”

“I didn’t mean - “Bucky stopped himself, and shook his head lightly. “Thanks for the company Steve. Tabula rasa?”

Steve looked at Bucky before walking back down the street. “Tabula rasa,” Steve smiled, his eyes crinkling ever so slightly. “See you next class.”


	9. Chapter 9

Tony walked onto the stage with a jar filled with small strips of paper filled up to the brim. “Alright, alright, quiet down. No need for the peanut gallery to start the day,” Tony reached into the jar. “Let’s start with…” Tony flipped open the first strip of paper. “Steve and Bucky.” 

“Of course it is,” Steve said under his breath, as Bucky pulled a copy of the monologue out of his bag, and held it out for Steve to take it. “I’m good, I memorized it.”

“Just take it. I know you’re good, but you never know.”

Steve took a deep sign and grabbed the paper, before heading down the stairs to the stage. 

*

“I’m fifteen,” Steve started from memory, holding the piece of paper in his hand, unfolded. “I’m fifteen and fidgeting in class. The teacher mentions something about the Pythagorean theorem that I know isn’t going to amount to anything. I’m fifteen and my mind wanders to something other than what the teacher is talking about. I focus on the neck in front of me. The way it’s just...it’s just there. I think about kissing it, when the teacher picks on me to answer the question.

“I’m twenty-two. Post college. I’m in my bed alone. I’m thinking about our shared time we had two nights ago. She was loud and rough and I couldn’t get her out of my head. She just…” Steve paused, and took a deep breath, moving across the stage, like he was confessing something. “She was good, but not just in bed. She was a really good person. She deserved the world. She...she died.

“I was twenty two and thinking about my dead girlfriend and the sex we had two nights ago. We all grieve differently, I guess. Sometimes we watch videos of them, when they were alive and happy, and letting their smiles shine. Sometimes we think about the last time we had sex.

“I’m thirty-five, and at the altar. I have nervous energy, and I look at my best man, and he gives me a thumbs up,” Steve rolls the paper in his hand, trying to imitate the nervous energy, his thirty-five year-old parallel self. Steve rolled on his feet. “We say our vows and I’m happy. Like.  _ Really  _ happy,” Steve smiled at the thought. “The priest says his words and we slide the gold bands on our proper fingers.”

Steve dropped his head, and smiled. “I’m so fucking happy.”

He sat down on the edge of the stage. “I’m eighty-five. I’m sitting at my spouse’s death bed holding their hand. I watch them smile softly, thinking about all of the times we had together, the children we raised, and the children they were raising.

“Their last breath passes and their grip lessens. Death. Death is difficult. Especially when you’re connected with someone,” Steve chuckled softly in character. “No matter what, you’ll always have the memories.” 

Steve got up from the edge of the stage and bowed slightly, as the class gave him a hearty applause. 

*

Steve sat down next to Bucky, handing him the copy of the monologue. “Told you, I didn’t need it.” 

“No, you certainly did not,” Bucky said back, raising his eyebrows. “I’m guessing all of the  _ Law & Order _ auditions are paying off.”

“Helps to have good words,” Steve smiled quickly, and Bucky gave a small smile back, while clicking his pen a couple of times.

He felt something in his chest.

Something that tightened around his heart, not causing him to lose his breath or feel like the weight of a thousand worlds were pressing onto his body.

Something that he had only felt once before, and something that -

“Do you need me to repeat the question?” Tony asked from a few rows away.

“I’m sorry, I - I,” Steve cleared his throat. “I didn’t hear you,” Steve stumbled over his words. 

“Your performance. On a scale from one to ten, how would you rate it?” 

“Uh,” Steve scratched the side of his face. “Maybe a six?”

“That’s it?” Bucky and Tony said at the same time. 

Steve put his hands up in defense. “Just my honest opinion.”

“Okay, I’ll put that in the notes. Bucky, I’ll send you a list of small notes regarding the writing, but good job this week. Seems like you have a knack for some heart wrenching moments.”

*

The rest of the actors performed their dramatic scenes and the class finished without any big grand gesture. Steve spent the rest of the class just trying to watch the performances and twiddle his thumbs. 

He just kept thinking of the words that Bucky wrote. It felt as though  _ Bucky _ had lived all of those years - going though the trials of life and death of others. 

The shuffling of pages, rubber soles against the concrete floor, and the sound of Bucky closing his laptop brought him back into the present. 

“So I’ll email you the scene in a few days or so? Just so Wanda and you can practice.”

“Yeah,” Steve cleared his throat. “Yeah, that sounds good to me.”

“See you later,” Bucky put his backpack on his shoulder and walked down the stairs. Steve’s eyes followed the line of Bucky’s shoulders, for no reason. No reason at all. His eyes were practically locked on him, until Tony cut into his eye-line. He looked at Bucky, closing the door to the theater, and going back to Steve. 

“Are you going method today?” Tony asked as Steve made sure he had everything in his pockets. 

“What?” Steve practically scoffed his response. 

“This whole vibe you have going on. The whole _‘I’m fifteen and I’m looking at the neck in front of me_’ vibe.” 

“There’s no, vibe, Tony.” 

Tony squinted his eyes, as he shifted his weight. “Hm. I’ll tell you this. I don’t believe you.” 

“Is this all about Bucky? He’s turning out to be a good friend. That’s all,” Steve shoved his hands in his pockets. “No need to read into it more.” 

*

Steve tapped Natasha’s phone number as he opened up his window. The phone trilled a few times before he heard her adjust the phone to her ear.

“ _ Hey big man, what’s got you calling now?” _ Natasha said, in not the voice that Steve was used to.

Steve paused, quickly making sure he called the right person. “Natasha?” 

“ _ Wait you’re not -”  _ there was a short silence and a far away mutter of some expletives before Natasha put the phone to her ear.  _ “Hi, Steve - how are you?” _

“Did I interrupt something?” 

_ “Nope, and we are moving on. How’s it going, my favorite client, that if he shares what he heard with anyone, I’ll find the nearest bounty hunter to come and find you?” _

“Not frightening at all. Lock and key.”

_ “So, how is everything? Not getting into any trouble?” _

“Far from it, honestly. Just call me Saint Rogers, the patron saint of not doing shit.”

_ “I don’t think Pastor John will like that.”  _

“Pastor John doesn’t like most of the things I do, let’s be real here.”

_ “So, why did you call?” _

“I...I don’t know. I think a lot of things are going through my head at the moment. I think I just need someone to talk to.”

_ “Are you having second thoughts about auditioning?” _

“Auditioning?”

_ “Yeah, next Friday? Remember?” _

“Hold on,” Steve sighed as he took the phone from his ear and tapped the email icon. There was one email from Nat. Bold lettering in all capitalization letters. 

**TWO FRIDAYS FROM THE END OF THE WEEK**

**9:30AM - BELASCO THEATER**

**Auditionpiece.doc**

“Ah, that audition,” Steve said as if he didn’t just read the email for the first time.

_ “You’re reading the email for the first time, aren’t you?”  _ Natasha deadpanned.

“Y’know, in another life, you’d make a great spy.”

_ “...and you a great liar,”  _ Natasha left room for a soft chuckle.  _ “Look, Rogers, whatever doubts you have about your acting - let them go.”  _

“Easier said than done.” 

_ “Oh, shit, I have another call coming in. As much as I want to sit down, to talk, I don’t have time. Start looking over those words, Steve. Do you want me to schedule you with an acting therapist? Maybe they can help you with your anxieties. Pick up this audition talk in a couple of days?” _

“Uh, I’ll get back to you about the therapist. Maybe. I don’t know,” Steve sighed. “Enjoy the talk with  _ the big guy.” _

_ “Jesus Christ goodbye, Steve. Talk to you soon.” _

Steve didn’t even have the chance to say his goodbye back before Natasha hung up the phone immediately. He looked out the window, letting the air lightly flow into his room. The sirens rang out, filling the silence. He flipped through his contacts, seeing if he could talk to anyone. It was in this moment that Steve realized he had no friends in New York. 

Well.

He did have one.

At least, Steve thought he had one.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve visits Bucky to help with some lines.

** **

** **

**THE DOCTOR**

You see her? She’s here because of _ you. _Her soft face, her supple - 

**DENVER DARK**

Fucking _ Christ _ you need to _ get those words out of your mouth! _

**THE DOCTOR**

Getting uncomfortable? Your precious girlfriend cannot do anything. It’ll just be her and a sharp blade. 

[THE DOCTOR SNAPS HIS FINGERS, SIGNALING THE TELEVISION TO TURN OFF] 

**DENVER DARK**

You lay_ one fucking hand on her _and -

**THE DOCTOR**

And what? Looks like you can’t really move. 

[THE DOCTOR PULLS OUT A KNIFE. IT'S OLD, RUSTY AND DENVER SQUINTS TO SEE THE OLD BLOOD THAT STILL IS THERE, CLEARLY USED BEFORE] 

**THE DOCTOR**

None of your tricks can be used now. 

Bucky sighed and pushed the laptop off of his side. The apartment he shared with Sam was quiet. Most likely because it was the middle of the day in the middle of the week. 

He needed this day off. 

For all his boss knew, Bucky came down with a cold. So, he spent his time in bed with his laptop screen open and plugged in so he could focus on anything but numbers, and tried to think about the letters in front of him instead. 

That wasn’t quite working.

*

Bucky made iced coffee. The pot that he made this morning was cold, and bitter, and perfect to enjoy over some ice with milk, and three spoons of sugar. 

He had a small sweet tooth, so sue him. It helped with those long off craving of cigarettes in the deep desert heat, his name being called by -

A knock on the door.

Half of Bucky’s drink went flying across the kitchen. Someone knocked again. 

_ “Goddammit!” _ Bucky yelled out as the glass shattered, and his arm spasmed. “ _ Fuck. _” 

The knocks kept coming, and his arm spasmed again. 

More knocking. 

“Hold your fuckIng _ dick in your hands, I’ll be there in a couple of minutes! _” Bucky practically screamed. He took a few stabilizing breathes. His arm spasmed, and Bucky reminded himself what he needed to do. He got his brace and strapped himself in. Moving his arm a couple of times, he made sure the range of motion was gliding without any hitches. 

He felt better.

More in control. 

Bucky walked bAck to the front door, and took a deep breath before opening it. Centering himself. 

He was faced by Steve. 

“‘_Hold your fucking dick in your hands?_’ You say that to the UPS driver?” Steve asked with his mouth slightly smiling. 

“Mother_ fucker _.” Bucky whispered as he shut the door. He opened it back up. 

“Is this a bad time?” Steve asked with his stupid smile. 

His sheepish smile. 

Steve asked with a small smile that Bucky definitely did not think about. 

“No, uh,” Bucky leaned his shoulder on the door, “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” Steve said, and shook his head slightly. “Hi! Yeah. Hi. I didn’t think you would be here.” 

“Is that why you kept knocking?”

“Sorry about that.”

“Yeah, I’m usually not here. Took the day off from work. Wait - I never gave my address to you. How’d you get here?”

“Oh! Yeah. I memorized the route last time,” Bucky was quiet. “Coffee shop night?”

“_ Right. _ Right,” Bucky nodded his head. “You’re here now.”

“I’m here now. In the flesh.” 

“You want to come in?” Bucky stepped aside.

*

Steve was…

Steve was attractive. Like, undeniably so conventionally attractive and Bucky didn’t really know where these feelings were coming from. 

Well, _ he did know _, but. 

But he hadn’t felt this sort of feeling in practically a decade. 

Generally he was alone, shielding himself from people. Yes, he had Sam, but Sam wasn’t there to provide the intimacy that he wanted Steve provide.

“So,” Bucky continued after he let Steve in and grabbed a pan and broom to sweep up the mess, trying to calm and stop his mind from spiraling, “So, no lunch duty today?”

“Or dinner. Off for the day too,” Steve rolled up some papers in his hand. “I was actually wondering - and you can say no - if you can help me with something.” 

Bucky was silent for a second, and took a peek over at Steve. “I’m guessing it has something to do with those pages?”

“Smart, man.”

“They just don’t recruit anyone into accounting,” Bucky poured the glass into the garbage, and wiped up the rest of the spilled coffee. “Want me to pretend to be your husband so you can sign for a house in Connecticut with better credit?”

“What? No - I have an audition.”

“And to think I was going to finally break into my collection of Martha’s Vineyard ties,” the words finally caught up with Bucky. “Wait - an audition?! Holy shit you got an audition!” 

“Thank you, thank you,” Steve bowed slightly, and then sat down on the couch behind him. “I need help though.” 

Bucky walked back over to the living room, and sat down on a stool. “Help? Steve, you memorized the entire walk to my apartment after one time here.” 

“The words are just not sticking,” Steve said, looking defeated. Bucky sighed, and held out his arm and hand, motioning to the pages. Steve complied and handed the rolled up pages over. Bucky looked over the words that were printed on the page, flipping the pages back and forth. 

“Who are you auditioning for? _ Chase _ or the even better name of _ Hank _?”

“Chase, I think. All-American boy trope.”

“Well, you certainly fit that type,” Bucky muttered, and Steve chuckled at the response.

“I’m sure I’m going to be walking into a room with twenty other bleach blonde hunks,” Steve leaned back on the couch. 

“You don’t know that. Five of them could have brown hair.”

“You got me there, Buck,” Steve laughed. 

Bucky’s lips tugged upwards. “I sure did. Alright,” he shifted in his seat “how many times have you read this over?”

“About three times on the walk over here.”

“How do you prepare for the class?”

“I read it, then half read it, then I don’t...read it.”

“Okay, well,” Bucky cleared his throat. “Why are you here?”

“Well, I just am having a lot of anxiety about -”

“No, Steve,” Bucky held up the stapled together pages.

“Oh,” Steve shifted in his seat and leaned forward so his arms were resting on his knees. “I’m here because of-”

“Cassie, huh?” Bucky raised his eyebrows. “It’s always Cassie. You like my older sister?”

“What? No,” Steve lifted his head. “No it was never Cassie. It wasn’t her that drove me to the ER when I broke my leg. It wasn’t Cassie who would push me out of the crowd when I got into a fight at the dive bar three nights ago. It’s..._ I don’t know. _”

“Are you sure?”

“I said I don’t know,” Steve sighed out of character. 

“No,” Bucky huffed a laugh. “You were right. Hank’s character is just asking if Chase is sure.”

“Right.”

“You’re doing fine, Steve. More than fine. They’re probably not going to ask you for more than just a simple excerpt.” 

Steve looked up to Bucky, as he handed him the small stack of papers. “I’m sorry I bothered you then.”

“You didn’t bother me at all,” Bucky sat back down. “You made me break one of my favorite glasses when you knocked on the door.”

“My sincerest apologies,” sarcasm dripped out of Steve’s mouth. 

“Yeah, it’ll come back to haunt you when you’re a famous actor and I have a front page cover story all about you and my favorite cup.”

“Me and my lawyers will be ready.”

“But seriously,” Bucky’s small chuckle died down. “I don’t think it’s the memorization that you’re having issues with. What’s up?”

Steve sighed and leaned back into the couch. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Well, that’s reasonable. It’s your first big break.”

Bucky saw a flash of annoyance across Steve’s face. “You can put it that way,” Steve said quickly, and before Bucky could ask, he continued. “I haven’t stage acted in a long time."

“You stage acted last week.”

“Alright, you’re making me seem too perfect, which I am not.”

“Then let’s forget about this...this stuff. Let’s grab some coffee.”

“What about your flaws?” Steve asked as he got up from the couch.

“Oh, now that’s level four on the friendship scale. We have barely gotten through level two. However,” Bucky said as he placed his jacket over his brace, “you haven’t even asked me about the thing on my arm, so you’re now close to being exposed to level three.”

“I’m honored.”

Steve opened the door and stepped outside again, leaving Bucky to quickly run upstairs to his room. He pressed the save button on the document and headed right back downstairs to take his mind off of his writing and enjoy some coffee with his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are halfway through! If you are reading this in one sitting, please take a break, drink some water and be hydrated! This story will be here when you get back!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky and Steve perform a monologue piece. Steve starts to doubt himself.

Days went by since Bucky and Steve casually had coffee. They talked about some stuff, but never went into too much detail. Steve was glad he was around...someone. He felt as though his skin was crawling and needed to just be around someone that could make him forget about the ever spark of anxiety that rested deep inside his brain. 

Last night, Steve’s email notification went off. Tony sent out the email to make sure that he and Wanda got the script, and started to organize their rehearsal times. Steve got his personal (and very protected) email up and started to send one to Bucky.

He lightly tapped his fingers across the keys, not quite touching them hard enough to actually type out anything. All it was was a simple ‘Hey, this is my number. Feel free to text me instead of email’, but yet, he was sitting in front of his computer practically frozen.

He added Wanda to the group email.

He sent it out to the both of them, and Wanda was the first to respond, giving her tepid excitement in rehearsing. She gave her availability to practice.

He didn’t hear back from Bucky. 

He should have known since. 

Well.

His part of the assignment was over. 

*

Tony clapped his hands when the pair of actors stepped down from the stage. “Alright, next up is Steve and Wanda.”

Every single time Tony called his name it was a surprise. Maybe because most directors called him Rogers, buddy, pal, you - rarely something as personal. Hollywood was relentless. Picking apart actors’ looks over talent, and thoughts and -

“Gettin’ cold feet?” Bucky leaned over in his chair and whispered. 

Steve cleared his throat. “No, it’s just a monologue. Why would I be?” He rolled his shoulders, and squared up like he was about to enter a football game. The stage was empty and he rolled on his toes as he waited for Wanda. 

Who never showed up for class that day. 

“Oh, she emailed you, Tony,” Vis spoke up. 

“She did,” Tony said as he scrolled through his phone. “Yep, totally knew that. Something to do with her brother right?”

“Broken ankle. Fears his cross country running career is over.”

“Anyway,” Tony set his phone down and sat back in his chair. “Who to swap, who to swap,” he said underneath his breath. Steve was quiet. Family emergency - that’s why Wanda wasn’t there. Only one other person that  _ could  _ technically pair with him would be -

“How about Bucky? Come on down,” Tony said, and shrugged. Tepid applause was heard from the stage as Steve watched Bucky furrowed his eyebrows and pointed to himself. “Yes, you.” Bucky closed his computer and walked down the stairs. He climbed up on the stage and rolled his feet. From his back pocket he took out a roll of paper. “You’re the only one who knows the  _ emotion _ . Just switch the pronouns and you should be peachy keen,” Tony said, as the pair of them just stared back. “Oh, c’mon. I saw the monologue. This is  _ theater _ . You’re gonna have to get close.” 

Steve heard Bucky swallow  _ hard _ . 

“Cool? Cool. Let’s do this,” Tony clapped his hands together and leaned back. 

“Are you good?” Steve raised his eyebrows. 

“Yeah,” Bucky took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah. Just signed up for writing not acting. Especially not this one.” 

“You’re not the one being critiqued. Just read the lines off the page,” Steve smiled.

“Okay.”

*

“Hey!” Steve said from the other side of the stage, as Bucky was aimlessly walking around, head in the paper. “Hey! You dropped something,” he said, imitating a pattern as though he was running. 

“Oh, thanks,” Bucky turned around and a cell phone was handed to him. “Where’d you find it?” 

“On the promenade. I’m guessing you were just there?” Bucky asked, grabbing the imaginary phone.

“Yeah, just walking my dog.”

“Oh, I didn’t even see him,” Steve crouched down and gave the imaginary dog a scratch. “What’s their name?”

“Scruffy.”

“Really?”

“No,” Bucky laughed. “No, his name is Jake.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“My name is Jake,” Steve smiled and pulled out his wallet, and showed his driver's license to Bucky. 

“How about that. Well, nice to meet you Jake squared. James.” 

“Jake and James. Has a ring to it,” Steve smiled. 

“The three J’s. Sounds like a band.”

Steve got up from the floor and held his hand out. “Nice to meet you.” 

“You as well. So,” Bucky sighed and petted his imaginary dog, “which way are you headed?”

“That way,” Steve pointed to somewhere. 

Bucky rolled on his feet. “I guess me too. Jake hasn’t walked much today.”

“You sure?”

“I can use the air,” Bucky smiled at Steve and for a moment, they were the only two in the room. The only two on the stage, with no one watching them. The only two on the Brooklyn promenade in the middle of day. Steve in his running gear and Bucky holding onto a dog - probably a golden retriever. He wanted to lean in. He wanted to touch Bucky’s face. Wanted to bring him in close. 

It was a moment.

It was a moment between two people who were walking through the streets just meeting because one dropped their phone. A slice of life. He reached for Bucky’s hand, causing them both to stop. Steve walked forward and put his finger under Bucky’s chin, drawing it upwards so his face pointed towards his. He could smell the shampoo he used. The scent of -

Clapping began. 

Right.

Here he was. 

Steve stepped away and bowed his head slightly. He looked over at Bucky who was admittedly a little red. Steve stepped back and gave Bucky a slight yes-we-are-definitely-friends-clap on the back. He seemed to snap to the present, and gave a slight smile and bow to the theater. 

Both walked down and sat about one seat apart from each other.

“Wow, would you look at that!” Tony beamed. “Buckaroo, you should look into auditioning for some plays. You’re a natural.”

Bucky cleared his throat. “Thanks, but I like being on the other side, to be quite honest.” 

“Lost talent, if I may say so!” Tony exclaimed before turning back to the rest of the class, and continuing on.

“Improv 101, huh?” Bucky whispered to Steve. 

*

Steve let the phone ring for a little bit more as he tried to call Natasha. 

_ “What is it, Rogers, I’m in the middle of a meeting.” _

“I don’t know if I can do this theater thing.” 

Natasha took a deep sigh. “_Just one moment_,” she said as she put the phone down to her side. He heard some chattering away from the microphone and some footsteps. “_What do you mean_?”

“I mean, I’m having second thoughts. I think I should move back to LA.”

“_No_.” 

“What?”

_ “Steve. You’re meant for the stage. You have your degree in stage acting. Don’t quit on me now, buddy. When’s the audition?” _

“Next week.”

_ “Okay. Breathe, that’s what I need you to do. This won’t be your first audition, and it won’t be your last. You just gotta keep grinding them out. It’s the same as film.” _

“The life of an actor.”

_ “Why don’t you go see a play? Get a feel for the theater? Get a feel for the vibes. You’re into vibes and all that stuff, right?” _

“I think that’s more Gamora’s schtick, but sure,” Steve ran a hand down his face in slight frustration. “Okay. Play it is.” 

_ “I’ll call a couple of people, you can meet the actors, and maybe talk with them backstage?"  
_

“No, no. I can get a couple from the TKTS place,” Steve sighed. “Sorry for bothering you, Natasha.”

_ “You’re never a bother, Steve.”  _

Steve says a soft goodbye and sits back in the chair, trying to forget about being three inches from Bucky’s face.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They take a trip to the theater.

[SCREEN IS BLACK EXCEPT FOR THE SOUNDS OF DRIPPING WATER, AND FOOTSTEPS IN PUDDLES. DENVER DARK GROANS AND TRIES TO OPEN HIS EYES. IMAGES OF A BLURRY PERSON STEPS INTO VIEW]

**[V.O.] MICHAEL BENNETT**

Hey! _Hey! _Denver! 

**DENVER DARK**

[GROANS IN PAIN]

**[V.O.] MICHAEL BENNETT**

Shit.  _ Shit. _ What did he do to you?

**DENVER DARK**

Natalie...where’s Natalie?

[DENVER DARK OPENS HIS EYES AND A BLURRY FOCUS COMES INTO VIEW - MICHAEL BENNETT IS CROUCHING IN FRONT OF HIM, WITH THE LOOK OF WORRY ON HIS FACE] 

**MICHAEL BENNETT**

Still missing. 

**DENVER DARK**

_ Fuck. _

[HE RUNS HIS HANDS OVER HIS FACE AND TEARS START TO FALL DOWN. MICHAEL BENNETT TAKES ONE OF DENVER'S HAND AND PUTS THE OTHER ONE ON HIS FACE, WIPING A TEAR WITH THE PAD OF HIS THUMB] 

**MICHAEL BENNETT**

We’ll find her. We’ll find her and kill that fucker.

Bucky bit into his sandwich. It was bland, but expected, especially since he got it from the local Whole Foods. It was just. 

A sandwich.

A sandwich that if really looked at closely, was probably actually really great and delicious, but didn’t want to get his hopes up.

Bucky, in that moment, realized that he wasn’t thinking about the sandwich and kept mulling over a day or so ago when Steve was practically three inches from his face. That wasn’t in the script. 

They were just supposed to walk off stage, not share a moment that Bucky definitely didn’t think about constantly since it happened. 

Bucky stared back at his computer, which in turn just boasted another blank excel sheet, staring back at him, knowing that he had to do his work, but his mind just kept drifting to Ste - his sandwich. 

Bucky sighed.

He finished his lunch, and got back onto his computer, making sure to keep his script tucked away. He was making progress, and even though he had to go through hoops to get to where it is now, Bucky was close to finishing it. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel, where Denver Dark rescues Natalie, and finally puts a bullet into The Doctor’s head. 

He just wasn’t sure if that was the happily ever after he really wanted. 

*

About an hour after Bucky’s lunch, his phone buzzed in his pocket. 

**Steve**

_ Hi _

Bucky’s heart skipped a beat. He knew why, but he wasn’t sure as to why Steve was texting him.

Bucky typed out a starting response. 

**Bucky**

_ Hi back _

_ Everything okay? Need help running lines? _

**Steve**

_ I mean. Still incredibly nervous. _

**Bucky**

_ Incredibly nervous? Bud, you busted out three monologues in class _

**Steve**

_ Yeah, I know. But this is different. This has weight to it. _

_ I want to just get a feel for the theater and accidentally bought a second ticket to a play. _

Bucky waited for a second.

**Steve**

_ Do you want in? It's a same day ticket so I couldn’t get a refund. _

**Bucky**

_ Wait for today? _

**Steve**

_ Yeah - is 7P.M. okay? I know it's last minute. _

Bucky bit the inside of his lip, and took a deep breath. 

“About to accept a date, James?” T’Challa leaned on the cubical. 

Bucky almost dropped his phone. “Uh, no. Just talking to my friend.”

“Sure, sure. A friend doesn’t make you jittery like bugs in the ground.”

“Well, when you sneak up on someone like a cat, someone generally gets scared.” 

“You ready to get back to the board room?” T’Challa asked as he pointed behind him with his thumb.

“Be right there.”

**Bucky**

7P.M. is good. Meet at my place?

Almost immediately the three dots appeared and the blue bubble formed. 

**Steve**

_ Meet you there. _

*

“Bro,” Sam bit into his sandwich, “slow the fuck down, you’re gonna break your ankle.” Bucky sighed as he looked around for his shoes. 

“It’s just that he’s going to be here soon, and it’s getting late,” Bucky crouched down and dug through his small pile of shoes. “Oxfords?”

“Eh. Anything one step down?”

“New Balances?”

“Dude, are you going to a play or you playing a game of basketball?”

“Fine, I’ll wear my work shoes,” Bucky said as someone knocked on the door. He rolled his left shoulder, and rubbed it with his opposite hand, “and maybe my brace.”

“Do you want me to get the door for you?”

“Nah, he can wait out there,” Bucky grabbed his phone and wallet before strapping himself in. He moved his arm in his brace a couple of times before his range of motion felt smooth. “See ya, Sam.”

“See ya, don’t blow it!” Sam said over his food. “Or, blow it!” 

Bucky gave Sam the finger, before opening the door and heading right out. 

“Hi,” Steve smiled as he got off the railing. He was wearing an LA Dodgers baseball cap with a nicer shirt and pants. 

“You’re dressed for the evening,” Bucky chuckled.

“No one really dresses up anymore for plays. You look good, Buck-y,” Steve cleared his throat. 

“Thanks, Steve,” Bucky smiled. “So which theater?” he asked as he started to walk, and Steve followed.

“Belasco.”

“Wait,” Bucky practically stopped in his tracks, “you’re auditioning at the Belasco theater?”

“Yeah?”

“Dude.”

*

As they approached, Steve pulled out the tickets from his back pocket, and handed the two thick pieces of paper to the usher. They scanned, looked at Steve, and squinted their eyes. “Up the stairs and to the right.” 

“Thanks,” Bucky smiled, and followed Steve who managed to push himself way through the small crowd. “Hey, wait up,” he said as he swerved in and out of people, trying to catch up with Steve. 

“Sorry,” Steve rubbed his opposite arm, “crowds get to me sometimes.”

“Okay,” Bucky put his hands in his pockets, “it happens to the best of us. Hell, I can’t even deal with fireworks because of my time overseas.”

Steve pursed his lips, let his head fall slightly, and looked back at Bucky. “How about we catch those seats, before we set up shop here in the stairwell?”

Bucky smiled slightly. “Sounds good to me.”

*

“Are you serious?” Bucky said as he walked into the area with boxed seats.

“They were the only ones that were on sale!” Steve whispered lightly. “Like I was going to give up a price like that.”

“We could have just snuck in like normal people to get a vibe of the theater. Recreated the stage play of  _ My Fair Lady. _ ” 

“Now, that’s a movie.”

“ _ My Fair Lady  _ or sneaking into the theater to recreate  _ My Fair Lady? _ ” 

“Both. I like both,” Steve looked over to Bucky, and smiled. 

The lights lowered, and Bucky put his finger to his mouth, and shushed Steve. “Shh. The play is starting.”

“Your fault, you mentioned  _ My Fair Lady _ .”

*

The lights were brought up for intermission, and Bucky stood up to stretch his legs. “You want anything from the bar?” 

“A water?” Steve responded.

“Wow, and to think I was going to order the 1952 Cabernet Sauvignon for us,” Bucky chuckled, and Steve laughed along. “Two waters, coming right up.”

Steve started to reach into his back pocket, but Bucky waved him off. “It’s water, Steve. Now if you were buyin’ me a beer, well. That’s something else.” 

*

The theater gave the cast a standing ovation, and everyone started to file out. Bucky stood up, but saw that Steve didn’t. He sat back down. “Everything okay?” Steve grabbed his chin and rubbed a few circles, thinking. “Earth to Steve?”

“Huh?” Steve blinked back into the present. “Oh, sorry. Kind of zoned out there for a moment.”

“Crowds?”

“Yeah.” 

“How about we just sit here,” Bucky adjusted himself in the seat, “and watch the stage for a little bit longer. Make the ushers grab us and kick us out.”

Steve looked over to Bucky, who in turn looked over to Steve, and smiled. Bucky leaned in on his armrest that was close to Steve, and watched the people filter out from the rows. 

*

“ _ Mr. Rogers, we love that you’re enjoying our theater, however we have to clean the area. You’re more than welcome to use the rear exit?” _ Bucky mocked the usher, and they both chuckled, as both Bucky and Steve walked side by side down a less trafficked street near the theater. The glow of lights from the small restaurants brightened up the streets, practically beckoning the both of them to come in and sit down. 

“He was just being nice,” Steve offered, “I’m sure there were still a lot of people by the merch kiosk.”

“To be quite honest, it felt nice. Like we were some fancy foreign diplomats.”

_ “ _ _ Diplomates français étrangers trop exigeants pour l'entrée principale, _ ” Steve said in French, but Bucky didn’t understand a word. 

“Sure, whatever you say.” 

“You didn’t take French in high school?”

“Spanish,  _ estupido _ , como una persona normal,” Bucky said, and Steve gave him a slight push. “Hey,” he said, playfully, and Steve just smiled. “Thank you, though.”

“For what?”

“For tonight. I really enjoyed it. The play was fantastic.”

“Yeah, it was really good.”

“When’s your audition?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!”

“Tomorrow,” Steve pursed his lips, a wash of nervousness falling across his face. 

“You’ll do fine. You know the lines. You know the  _ emotions _ . Steve,” Bucky slowed down and waited until Steve turned around, “stop doubting yourself. You’re a good actor. A  _ really  _ good actor. I mean, stick with this stuff and maybe you’ll get to Hollywood one day.”

Steve just scoffed.

“I know it seems crazy,” Bucky dropped his hands to his side, “but it’s one foot in front of the other. You don’t score this audition? Pick your head up and keep on marching.”

Steve sighed and smiled. “Thanks.”

Bucky waited until Steve started walking again, and both slipped into a comfortable silence, letting the city’s sounds over take their conversation. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some spilled coffee leads to a talk in the park.

Steve sipped on his third cup of hot coffee as he approached the theater. He entered the room filled with men that looked early just like him, and walked the person at the front loudly snapping their gum to ask when his call time was. 

An hour. 

A full hour. 

He sat there fidgeting his leg, tapping his fingers on his knee. He was nervous. 

Steve hadn’t been so nervous in quite a while, and he for sure didn’t miss it. 

“Mr. Rogers?” someone called from a door behind him. Steve turned around and grabbed his small set of papers and walked towards the door. 

*

As soon as he walked out of the theater, Steve kept moving. When he was back in LA, during his time right out of college, he started to grind his way through commercial auditions. “ _ Imagine you’re holding a bouquet of balloons and then all of a sudden a dog runs in between your legs!” _ and Steve would try and replicate the ridiculous rendition that felt like some 20th century slapstick comedy. 

The streets blurred. Steve felt as though he was just walking on a treadmill, and everything around him was some sort of green screen effect. He pushed his hands into his hoodie’s pockets and tried to become small. Tried to become almost a turtle hiding under his shell and -

Hot coffee was all over himself and the person in front of him. “Bucky?” Steve stood almost frozen and Bucky did the same. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry,” Steve took his sleeves and started to wipe down Bucky’s t-shirt, “I wasn’t paying attention and -”

“Steve,” Bucky said softly, as he placed his messenger bag to the side against the building, “Steve, for the love of Christ, please stop this is getting ridiculous,” Bucky chuckled. “There are like three drops of coffee on me. Most of it got on you and your raggedy sweatshirt.”

Steve gave a mocked face of offensiveness. “Excuse you, this sweatshirt has brought me great joy over the years, no reason to make fun of it.”

Bucky lightly put his hands up in defense. “Wait, what day is it again?” Steve was about to answer when Bucky did so for him. “Your audition day! It’s today!”

Steve blew a breath out of his nose, almost sounding like a chuckle. “Yeah, it was.”

“You gotta tell me all about it.”

“Right now?”

“Why not?” Bucky furrowed his eyebrows. “I was going to bring my coffee to the park around the corner, but it’s all over you now and well -” Bucky cut himself off. 

“Let me buy you a coffee?”

“What?”

“I ran into you, and ruined your...what time is it?”

“1 P.M.”

“Lunch. I’m ruining your lunch.”

“Not in the slightest, Steve,” Bucky smiled. Steve smiled back and put his hands into his pockets. “How about this. I’m still on my lunch break -”

“Would explain the whole work attire thing.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckled. “Yeah it would. Okay. So since I’m still on my lunch break, you owe me a coffee, you still have to tell me when you have to audition today -” 

“It already happened, actually…”

“See, this is the juicy gossip  _ I crave, _ ” Bucky said matter of factly. 

*

Coffees in hand, they let the shade of the trees cover their path. Thankfully, Steve wore a shirt underneath, as most days (but exceptionally happy that he did so today) he was always worried about the looming sense of paparazzi, so he wasn’t still wearing the coffee covered sweatshirt, nor was he running bare chested in the park with Bucky next to him. 

“So, what brings you to a coffee shop in the middle of the day?” Steve asks, trying to break the silence.

“Real life work,” Bucky said as he sipped his drink. “Real life work that makes me think about all the things I could be doing.” 

“So I take it real life work is going not so great?” Steve asked as he walked up to a bench and sat down. Bucky sat down at the bench, but a little further down, so he was able to face Steve.

“It’s just. Numbers. A lot of numbers. A lot of never ending numbers.” Steve must have gave Bucky a slightly confused look. “I crave monotony. I think.”

“Ah, now it makes sense. Could’ve sworn you were a numerologist,” Steve chuckled. “So, what brings you to the class then? Unless you write in binary, which I would be incredibly impressed if you were to write a play in binary.”

“I don’t like my job at all.” 

“Oh.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I’m happy I have one. After the whole…combat serviceman phase of my life, I needed this day to day stuff. To get myself centered. To get myself up every day. Accounting was a skill that came easy to me.”

“...but?"

“But,” Bucky took another sip of his coffee, and Steve did the same, “I think it’s time to move on.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That’s kind of the worst part - it’s not bad at all. My co-workers are wonderful. My boss understands where I’m coming from - he was involved with the military in some way. I think that’s why he hired me. What gets to me is that I think I’m spending more time on this - this class - more than anything else.”

“You want something new?”

Bucky sighed and leaned back into the bench. “Completely new,” he paused and looked at Steve. “How about you?”

“Well, y’know. Wanna be stage actor.”

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean, that’s it?” Steve laughed. “My answer isn’t enough, Plato?” 

“Next time you call me Plato, it will only be when I’m a themed rooftop pool party, and you know that.”

“That’s very specific.”

“That’s New York, baby.” 

“I want to get out of the spotlight.” 

“Out of it? Don’t you  _ literally _ want to get in it?”

“Yes, but,” Steve sighed. He was at a conundrum. To this point, he was convinced Bucky - practically his only friend in New York City - didn’t really know who he was. Didn’t know that he was the action movie star - this  _ face _ that was plastered everywhere, and deep down inside, Steve wanted to keep that. Steve sighed. “Acting is...it’s so judgemental. So much of people always critiquing...everything. None of it’s very beneficial. It’s always ‘ _ Okay, well...next!’ _ . But, from my time and experience working with plays - it’s always positive.”

“You’ve never had a bad experience?”

“I have,” Steve leaned back and took a sip of his coffee. “Nothing is ever perfect, y’know? It can’t be. It’s life. Life isn’t perfect. But, we pick our heads up and keep walking. Keep putting our heads up.”

“You had a good therapist.”

Steve laughed. “I’m really lucky.”

“I’m writing a screenplay,” Bucky said almost out of the blue. 

“You are? Hey, that’s great!” Steve smiled, and he could  _ almost _ see the slight blush against Bucky’s face. 

“I mean...I’ve been working on it for half a decade. It’s really not that great, and needs so much work and I’m really not sure why I’m bringing it up at all.”

“Is that why you’re taking this class?”

“Yeah. I just...my friend suggested that I take it. Hone my skills. Maybe make it better and finish the damn thing.”

“What’s it about?"

“Nope,” Bucky smiled and pointed to Steve with his coffee still in his hand. “Nope, we are not going there. You survived me telling you I’m writing a screenplay. You might not survive me telling you what it’s about.”

“How dare you say that to your friend,” Steve smiled. Bucky paused, leaned back, and smiled. It looked like his whole body relaxed. It looked like he was about to say something, until Bucky felt something vibrating in his pocket. He padded his pants, until he pulled his phone out. 

“Oh,  _ shit,”  _ Bucky said as he looked at the time. “I’m going to be late getting back to work.  _ Crap _ ,” he swore as he stood up. “I gotta go, sorry.”

“You have a life, no worries.”

“I have a job, not a life,” Bucky chuckled and started to walk away with a wave. 

“It’s more structured than my life, anyway.” 

Bucky was already far enough away that he had to yell back. “Bye Steve! Thanks for today.”

Steve waved back and smiled, and kept smiling, until he saw that Bucky had left his messenger bag on the bench, and he heard the all too familiar clicks of a camera.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve reads a certain screenplay, and Bucky and Steve act out another.

Steve sat in his apartment, waiting for the call from Natasha that there had been new photos of him and, as probably the latest click-bait article would call Bucky, his “ _ Mystery Friend.” _

He was also waiting for the buzz of his phone, having the notifications pop up with Bucky’s name attached, but it still was only three in the afternoon, and for some reason, he still thought Steve was a waiter at some fancy restaurants with the worst patrons in the world. 

His next door neighbor slammed their door. It could have been an accident, could have been someone coming home from a long day and expressing their anger, could have been from a breakup. It could have been anything. Whatever it was, the reverberations from the door somehow caused the bag to fall. Out of the messenger bag, Bucky’s computer fell to the ground, and Steve swore, hoping nothing broke or was damaged. Some papers fell out as well. A large stack, all typed and not an essay. Splayed on the floor were numbered pages. 

Steve swore under his breath as he collected the pages, turning them face down on top of each other when he found the next number. The words were there, and since he was thankfully not blind, he couldn’t help himself and read what was on the page. 

Bucky wrote this. 

It was private. 

It wasn’t meant for him. 

However, it was good. The movie was  _ really good _ . He could feel the tension between the characters. How Denver Dark’s struggles were the everlasting struggles of someone with a past that didn’t want to be talked about. How all he wanted to do was do his own thing, but kept being roped into situations that he wanted to stay away from. How the assumptions of others kept pressing on, so much so that the main villain,  _ The Doctor in the white lab coat -  _ overused but appropriate for the film - uses it against Denver’s advantage. He eventually becomes a  _ Dame In Distress _ \- spinning the narrative of gender and having the main hero archetype become the one that needs rescuing. 

The person who rescues him is a guy, and when he rescues Denver he -

Steve flipped a couple of the next pages, only for them to be blank. He leaned back, to have his torso hit the edge of the couch, as he sat down on the floor somewhere between page twenty and page twenty-five. The sun set lower, and the light was now fully in his apartment, no need for any lamps to be turned on. 

Steve got up and walked to his file folder - the few pages that Bucky wrote and looked at them again. The words flowing off the page and creating a story - a life, a universe - and Steve didn’t think Bucky truly realized what he was capable of. 

Steve’s phone buzzed from behind, and he picked it up without realizing who it was. 

“Hey! I’m so happy you called. I grabbed your messenger bag from the park.”

_ “Who’s messenger bag?”  _ Natasha asked.  _ “Is this the messenger bag of the  _ mystery person _ you were caught having coffee with in the park?” _

“Fuck, I knew I heard cameras. What are the reports saying?”

_ “Hm,” Natasha mused, “really nothing. Just some fangirls of yours trying to decipher who it is. No face. Were you on a date?” _

Steve chuckled. “No, just meeting a friend for coffee.”

In the back of his mind he silently wished it was, though.

_ “Okay, great. Good to know if I have to whip out the PR management.”  _

“Is that your Big Guy?” Steve snickered. 

_ “If you don’t let that go, Rogers, I will have to let you go from this agency any minute.” _

“Okay, okay, sorry.”

_ “Back to the reason why I actually called you,”  _ Steve heard Natasha shift in her seat,  _ “So, how did your audition go?”  _

“Okay, I think? I was nervous. I messed up a couple lines, but the assistants were really nice and let me redo.” 

_ “Well, you had a good audition then.” _

“How do you know?”

_ “Well, I think the classes are helping. They want you back tomorrow for a second round. You’re in the final three picks.” _

“Wait,” Steve almost flailed. He didn’t know what to do with his arm so he placed it behind his neck, almost feeling the excitement and anxiety bundle up behind his hand. “I got into the final three? Are you kidding me?”

_ “You know me well enough that I tend to tell things,  _ that I want to tell,  _ straight forward. So congrats, Steve. Top three!”  _

“Oh my God,” was all that Steve could respond with. 

_ “I’ll send you the next piece they want you to audition with. Question, though. _ ”

“Shoot, Natasha.”

_ “I mean you probably already know from the last audition, but this play does involve kissing people of the same gender and I know you’re kind of out but not really and -” _

“Natasha, you only ramble when information has already leaked.”

_ “You know my tells. I’m becoming the worst.” _

“You’re not a spy. It’s okay to have tells.”

_ “Not in this industry,”  _ Natasha sighed. “ _ Some online clickbait website found out that you’re auditioning. I think it was someone in the room with you - could be a personal vendetta, could be just a theater worker excited to see you out and about in the theater scene. Who knows. But they leaked the play’s story to the press and that you were auditioning. Including how this play deals with falling in love with your best friend who’s also the same gender.” _

Steve bit his lip. “Well, uh. I mean, yes, I am out to my friends so that’s okay. Are you telling me I have to comment on this to the press?” 

_ “Not to the press. No. But, I’m giving you a heads up, Steve. Your life in Hollywood was incredibly exposing. I’m just wondering if you’re okay for it to be even more exposed than before.” _

Steve sighed. “I think that I can still have a private life. I’m acting. Actors act. If sometimes that acting calls for kissing a person of the same gender, then so be it. That doesn’t necessarily constitute my personal life.”

Natasha sighed over the phone, not frustrated, not angry.  _ “I got my work cut out with you, but that’s completely fine, Rogers. I respect it,”  _ her tone was light.  _ “I knew that when I signed you on, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Congrats on Round Two. I’ll send you the audition piece.”  _

“Thanks, Nat. I’ll talk to you soon. When is Round Two?” 

“ _ Tomorrow….and sent.”  _

Steve heard his email notification ping. “Tomorrow?” 

_ “Good luck, Steve. You got this,” _ Natasha said right before she hung up the phone. Steve bit the inside of his lip. 

*

Steve ran his lines over and over, before he was talking off the page. There was something, though that wasn’t quite working. Something was missing. 

Steve’s phone buzzed, and buzzed, and buzzed - before he realized someone was calling him. 

The words  **BUCKY** ran across the screen.

“Hey, man,” Steve rolled his eyes at himself. “What’s up?”

_ “I just got your texts, and literally just realized I don’t have my bag.” _

“It’s like 5 P.M.,” Steve laughed. 

“_Was away from my desk all day. The account we’re working on is driving me up a wall. Plus I came back late to the office_.” 

“Sorry about that,” Steve said.

“_Not your fault. I’m an idiot, and I was enjoying our time together_,” there was a brief pause. “_So, my computer bag_.”

“Right! Right. Your bag. Any chance we can meet up at the theater?”

“_Of all the place_s,” Bucky chuckled. 

“Well,” Steve sighed, “I might have another audition tomorrow.”

“_You got the part?!_” 

“Got into Round Two.”

“_Amazing! Congrats!_”

Steve could hear Bucky’s smile. “Thanks,” Steve smiled in return, like Bucky could see him. “So I’m good with the words but,” he sighed, “I think I need someone to act off of to really get the emotion.” 

“_Uh_,” Bucky said, then paused. Steve heard something - someone? - in the back of the room on the other line. Static echoed through, as if he was going through a tunnel but it stopped - only for Steve to realize that Bucky covered the receiver with his hand. “_Uh, yeah. We can do that. That’d be fun. Also, my bag_.” 

“Right. The bag. Tonight? Seven o’clock?”

“R_etrieve the goods, 7 P.M. See you there, Steve_.”

“See you there, Bond.”

“_It’s _ Mr. Bond _, to you._”

“So sorry, Mr. Bond,” Steve smiled as he tapped the End Call button. 

*

Steve leaned on the wall outside the alley and played around with his phone, doing nothing in particular. He anxiously typed in  _ Steve Rogers nyc _ to the Google search bar, because, well he was curious. 

Curious to know what other people thought.

**Buzzfeed Celebrity**

**@buzzfeedCELEB: ** Actor Steve Rogers appears out of thin air - the actor was spotted in NYC after stepping out of the Hollywood Limelight for a few months. More & pics here → https//:bitl.y84739 

**Katie**

@ **sparklesparkles: ** steve rogers is in nyc who wants to fly me out so I can meet him

**Brent **

@ **SuperWeb: ** why is there so much news about an actor having coffee and probably having a private moment with someone. WHO CARES. Let him have a nice time alone. 

**maria (fan acct)**

**@stvrxgerz: ** pretty sure i saw him at this coffee shop in nyc a few weeks ago. Asjkdfngh.

That was enough for today. He wanted to look at the Buzzfeed article more - to see the photos that were published online, but he saw Bucky starting to walk forward. Steve pocketed his phone, and watched Bucky check his watch. 

“Hey,” Bucky waved, “do you have a key or something? Or do you know how to pickpocket?”

“Do not doubt that I know how to pickpocket,” Steve offered, “but I gave Tony a buzz and he made sure to leave the door open.”

“You’re just trying to get on his good side. Trying to get in to  _ Law & Order: SVU _ .”

“So what if I’m trying to have a guest spot,” Steve responded and Bucky made a pointed look. “Here are your lines.”

“...and my bag?” Bucky asked.

“The bag will be retrieved once we head inside,  _ Mister Bond.” _

“Oh, wow, role play,” Bucky laughed and cleared his throat. “I expect the bag to be inside with the goods,” Bucky tried to be serious, but ended up laughing at the end. “After you.” 

Steve smiled and walked through the alley to the door. 

*

Bucky sat in the front row bouncing his right knee ever so slightly. He held the paper loosely, as he watched Steve walk back and forth across the stage. “I’m not telepathic, Steve. I need you to tell me what’s racking your brain.”

Steve paused and sighed. For the last ten minutes Steve had Bucky be his wall to bounce the words off of him, but the confidence that he once had was draining away. “I don’t have this.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is that I’m not connecting with the words like I usually do. Like the connection I have with your stuff.”

“Steve, you cannot compare my shitty writing to a three time Tony Award winner.”

“Didn’t know you watched the Tony’s. I’m not comparing, I’m saying it’s better, and I’m not resonating with this,” Steve held up the pages. “It just feels so disconnected when I’m reading it.”

“High praise,” Bucky sighed. He fiddled with the papers, before getting up from his chair, and walking over to the stage. “Do you know if tomorrow you’re going to have a scene partner? Or are you going to be regurgitating lines to someone?”

“Honestly, I’m not sure. Wasn’t really given that information.”

Bucky walked up the stairs. “Well, how about you imagine that I’m your scene partner...again, for this.”

“Okay…,” Steve paused, and then cleared his throat. “Okay.”

“Now,” Bucky chuckled softly, “I’m not an actor, but I think it’s better to act off of someone, rather than screaming into the void, right?” Bucky looked hopeful.

“Don’t sell yourself short, you’re not half bad,” Steve said, and as soon as the words registered to Bucky, he could see hints of a blush on his cheeks. “Where should we start?”

Bucky, although he had his own packet, got closer to Steve. He could feel Bucky to his side peeking at Steve’s pages. “There,” Bucky pointed halfway down the page. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, we went through the script. They make out.”

“Well,” Bucky echoed Steve, “what’s wrong with a little kissing?” Bucky raised one of his eyebrows.

Steve’s eyes quickly darted to Bucky’s lips and back, silently hoping he didn’t notice. He cleared his throat. Bucky wasn’t wrong, it was  _ just kissing _ . But, even though it was kissing  _ solely  _ for the part in the play, and definitely not like he had been wanting to for -

“Earth to Steve?” Bucky waved in front of his face. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to?”

“No! No, we can do this,” Steve said as he gave both of them a little space. He brought the pages to his face, and looked at Bucky and gave him a small nod, indicating that he was ready to start the section. 

*

“Didn’t think I’d see you again, since the last time you ran out of my apartment,” Bucky raised his eyebrows, in character. 

Steve put his hands on his hips, frustrated. “Didn’t think you would actually answer my calls to talk.” 

“It’s raining. You might as well come inside.” 

Steve walked into a doorway that wasn’t there, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “So, what I said earlier -”

“Care to explain?”

“Would you just let me talk for five minutes?” Steve’s tone was annoyed. 

“By all means,” Bucky put his hands to his side. 

“I was there with Patty because I needed to talk to her. To sort out some stuff. I’m moving out of my place.”

“Where are you going?”

“I...I don’t know. Maybe Texas. Maybe Montana. But, I know for sure I’m leaving this...this…” Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m leaving. I’m moving. I’m starting a new life.”

“Why?”

“Why?  _ Why? _ Because I can. Because I have the privilege of leaving.”

“So that’s it?” Bucky shrugged. “One fuck up, and you’re gone.”

“It was a pretty big fuck up, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Sure, shit hit the fan. Do you move every time shit hits the fan?”

Steve was silent, like he was instructed to be.

“Do you drop everything and leave everyone you ever cared about behind? What about those people?”

“What about them? Do they exist?”

“Do they...do they exist? Are you fucking kidding me?  _ I’m standing right here.” _

Steve was quiet. 

“I’ve done everything in my power to tell you how much you mean to me, and I’m sure it’s the same to you. You’re there in the morning, waving to me from across the street. You’re answering my calls. You’re there when I need you, and the one time you need me, it’s the time that you say fuck it, and leave.” 

“I have cared about you since the moment we met. This isn’t an us thing, and I really hope to not turn it into one.”

Bucky bit his lip. “You’re making a huge mistake. Don’t leave me. Don’t…just don’t. Just don’t because I -”

Steve cut him off from his line with a kiss. He took one step forward and put his hand on Bucky’s cheek before placing his lips onto his. They were soft, and the kiss was supposed to be chaste, but neither of them moved. 

Instead, Steve moved his lips, and Bucky followed. Steve could feel Bucky’s cheeks become warmer. He moved closer to him, and placed his other hand on Bucky’s face. His stubble dragging against Steve’s palm. Deepening the kiss, they stood there, in their own imagined spotlight, still on stage, with the sound of the floorboards creaking, as they shifted their weight. 

Bucky let go of his pages that he held onto, before he let out a small moan that Steve felt start in his throat. The pages fell to the ground causing them to part, but stayed close. Steve looked into Bucky’s eyes.

Both of them just stood there.

“I should probably pick up those pages,” Bucky said. 

“Yeah, no, I got them” Steve removed his hands from Bucky’s cheeks and crouched down to get them at the same time. Bucky furrowed his brows and they faced each other again by the floor.

“Thanks,” Bucky breathed deeply. “I think you’re good. Steve, you’re,” Bucky stood up, “you’re a really good actor. Like you really shouldn’t be running lines with me.”

“Thanks,”  _ that’s what my manager says, _ Steve wanted to finish the sentence, but he couldn’t find the courage.

Bucky walked down the steps and headed right back to his bag, and started to gather his things. “You’ll be fine, Steve. I just realized the time, and I have this...this thing I have to go to.”

“Okay,” Steve said, still on the stage, and watched Bucky wave, and head out the door. “See you later.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky celebrates, which turns into turmoil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains elements of PTSD, and flashbacks. Additionally this chapter contains vomiting, the discussion of vomiting, just in case anyone has any emetophobia.

** **

** **

**DENVER DARK**

We did it.

[DENVER DARK WIPES A SMEAR OF BLOOD ACROSS HIS MOUTH WITH THE BACK OF HIS HAND]

It’s fucking over.

**MICHAEL BENNETT**

You did it.  _ You _ killed The Doctor. We saved Natalia. 

[MICHAEL BENNETT LOOKS OVER AT DENVER DARK, AND SMILES. HE REACHES OUT FOR DENVER DARK’S HAND. DENVER SMILES] 

**DENVER DARK**

What do we do now? 

**MICHAEL BENNETT**

We go to a hospital first. Then, I want to make out with you. 

[MICHAEL BENNETT SMILES, AND THEN LEANS INTO DENVER, MAKING CONTACT. MAKING DENVER FEEL JUST A LITTLE BIT SAFER]

“No,” Bucky said out loud. “This script is not my personal journal.”

He saw Sam lean on the door frame. “Isn’t it though?” Sam asked, almost laughing.

“Shut up,” Bucky closed his laptop. “Please just...shut up.”

“Woah, woah, no hard feelings,” Sam walked in and sat at the edge of Bucky’s bed. “Everything okay?”

Bucky leaned back in his chair and turned around to face Sam. “No. Yes. I don’t know,” Bucky sighed. “I made out with Steve.”

Sam dropped his head forward. “Oh?”

“I swear we didn’t mean to. All consensual, and everything. We were preparing for Steve’s audition tomorrow. Had a kissing scene that lasted longer.”

“Okay. Well. You owe me twenty bucks then.” 

“You and your bets, Wilson,” Bucky rolled his eyes. 

“We shook on it! When he called. You were there. We  _ technically  _ have a witness.”

“That man is the man you bet that would ask to make out with me - he is not a witness, even if he was on the other line.”

“You still owe me,” Sam shrugged, and smiled, which in turn made Bucky smile. “What’s wrong? Did you not like it? Is he a shit kisser?”

“No, in fact, quite the opposite,” Bucky scratched the back of his neck. “It was everything I wanted since I started having feelings for him. But he’s a friend...and I kind of just left without saying goodbye. Or thanks.”

“So, y’all smooch, and then you just book it?”

“Pretty much.”

“Yeesh.”

“Yeah. I’m afraid that I made a mistake.”

“It’s okay to be afraid of affection.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“You split quicker than a pistachio,” Sam noted, and Bucky rolled his eyes, but let him continue. “Recovery doesn’t take a linear path. You’re still trying to navigate your post-Army life, and that’s okay. Letting people into your bubble is scary, and to me, it makes sense why you scooted out of the theater. Was it rude? Kind of. Sharing affection, if you want it to be, is personal.”

“I really like him. I don’t want to lose the friendship.”

“It seems like he likes you too” Sam shrugged. “I mean, who’d want to be around your ugly mug,” Sam laughed. Bucky found the closest pillow and threw it in Sam’s face. “Not cool!” 

Bucky laughed. “I think I have one more scene left in this script.”

“One? Holy shit, is it the year of miracles?” 

“I think so,” Bucky chuckled. His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he tried to ignore it. One more scene. 

“Want to celebrate with a drink?” Sam raised an eyebrow. 

Another buzz in his pocket. “Uh,” Bucky got his phone and saw the texts. 

**Steve**

_ Hey can we talk? _

**Steve**

_ Look I feel like I need to explain some things to you. Please call me. _

“Let’s celebrate with a drink,” Bucky smiled, not responding to Steve. Sam clapped and exclaimed with joy with Bucky’s decision to go out. “Only one though, I still have work tomorrow.”

*

Bucky took his fifth shot of the night, let the alcohol burn his throat, and slammed the glass on the table. “I finished a script!” he yelled to the crowded bar. People screamed in joy - only in New York and LA would you get a rousing response to finishing something like a script.

“No he didn’t!” Sam yelled jokingly, and Bucky only flipped him off. 

“One more round?” Bucky excited asked the crowd, drunk and happy. 

“No,” Sam intervened. “Actually - it’s time to go,” Sam flashed his card to the bartender, and he took it out of his hands.

“Awww spoil sport. But Sam,” Bucky paused, as Sam scribbled his signature on the receipt. 

“Oh, you’re ‘ _ I can’t finish my sentence’ _ drunk.”

“I can. But Sam,” Bucky breathed in and out. “The party's just gettin’ started!”

“Paid the tab. Party's over.”

“Boo!” Bucky laughed, as Sam pushed him out of the bar. 

*

“Have this water,” Sam pushed a bottle into Bucky’s hands. 

“Shots were a mistake, Sam,” Bucky’s slurred speech filled the empty spaces of the crowded sidewalk. 

“They’re always a mistake,” Sam laughed. “You gonna call out of work?”

“Sober me will. I don’t think drunk me should be calling Lang right now.”

“Sometimes you do have good ideas,” Sam leaned on the brick wall, watching Bucky fiddle with his phone. “...and sometimes you don’t, like you probably texting Steve right now.”

“I’m not texting Steve,” he said as he put the phone to his ear. 

“No,” Sam reached for the phone. “Drunk rule 202, never call your crush.” Bucky evaded his reach and started to slowly walk towards...somewhere. “Give me that phone!”

“Steeeeeveeee,” Bucky slurred. He was a lot more drunk than he thought. “Steveeeeee this is a voicemail, pick up. Wait, this isn’t 1999, we don’t have those recording machines any more. But, wait what if you did. I’m just calling because you told me to call you. So I thought I did. Doing so now. If you hear my roommate yelling for me in the back just ignore it. S _ teeevee _ . Your name. I like your name. And you. You’re a good kisser, Steve. So good. Forceful, controlling, but in all the good ways,” Bucky breathed some more. “Anyway. Hi. Call me back? I like you. I think? I’m not sure. I think I’m drunk.” Bucky heard some cameras clicking, but he kept walking. “You ever get the sense that someone is following you? I feel weird, Steve.”

“ _ I think that’s him!”  _ Someone yelled from behind. More clicking. Bright flashes. 

“Steve,” Bucky kept talking, but a small group of photographers got into his path and stopped Bucky in his tracks. He shielded his eyes from the bright light. 

Images of the desert brought him back. Loud crashing sounds.

_ “What are you doin’ Dum Dum?” Bucky popped his gum as they walked through the empty tan field of dust.  _

_“Me?! _Me?! _What about you?! You’re the one popping _Bubbalicious _during an op.”_

_ “I’ll have you know it’s the only thing keepin’ my mind straight right now.” _

_ “Oh, c’mon, your mind hasn’t been straight since your head popped out of your momma,” Morita cracked and Bucky laughed back.  _

_ “Not sure if that’s a crack on my sexuality or me bein’ a dumbass?” _

_ “Why not both?” Moritia smiled and Bucky smiled back. _

_ Then.  _

_ Flashes.  _

_ Heat. _

_ Screams.  _

Questions were being screamed. He was still on the call and threw up right onto the photographer’s shoes. 

Then Bucky blacked out.

*

Bucky woke up to a blaring headache and a stomach still filled with last night’s multitudes of drinks, rising up. He ran out of his room to his bathroom, and emptied out the contents of his stomach. 

“Jesus Christ,” he said as he pinched his nose and sat on the cold floor. Bucky’s headache pounded as some of last night’s events played back. 

The shots. 

Sam yelling his name.

Flashes. 

The voicemail. 

“The voicemail,” Bucky repeated the words aloud, and threw up again in the toilet.

*

Bucky shuffled downstairs, trying to put his brace on as his arm was hurting a little bit more than usual, hoping that Sam -

“Well, good morning, sunshine, you look like absolute shit,” Sam said as he fiddled with his phone, and Bucky sat down at the table, folded his arms, and rested his head. 

“ _ I feel like absolute shit,”  _ Bucky’s voice was muffled.  _ “What happened?” _

“Well, I came running up to you when you were hacking up the lack of food in your stomach onto that paparazzi's shoes, and then I took you home. I don’t know why they were up in your personal business, you’re not Adam Driver. You were mumbling on about some phone call you made. By the time I got myself a nice cold cup of water, you were already throwing up in the can. Had to shuffle you to your bed.”

“Oh god, the phone call. I gotta call Steve.”

“You called Steve?! Dude that’s like Drunk rule 202 - never call or text your crush.”

“Yeah, I know. You said that last night.”

“Ah the memories are coming back?” Sam lifted an eyebrow. 

“Piece by piece. More embarrassed by the whole call.”

“What’d you say?” 

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t remember the whole thing. I think something along the lines of how I liked the way he kissed me. Might have told him that I like him,” he sighed.

“Has he responded?” 

“Not sure. Nothing on my phone has come up yet. What time is it?”

“7:23 in the morning.”

Bucky groaned. “I’m not going to make it to work.”

“Do you have time off?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said as he walked up to the coffee machine.

“Say you have a stomach bug or something,” Sam shrugged. 

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Bucky poured the liquid gold into his cup and walked over to the dining room table, when there was a knock at his door. 


	16. Chapter 16

Steve held a paper bag of pharmacy supplies. Pedialyte, Gatorade, a carton of eggs, and some bread and cheese. He wasn’t sure if he was even awake. Steve listened to the voicemail an hour after it was sent. He was still awake and even watched the notification for a missed call pop onto his phone icon.

Steve listened to that message three times. Once when Bucky first hit the end call, the second time immediately after, and the third right after he woke up. He heard the clicking of the cameras in the back, the eventual screams by what Steve assumed were the paparazzi, and then the unforutante end to the call where he could hear Bucky throw up on to the ground.

He had to tell Bucky who he was. He had to tell him, because apparently Bucky didn’t recognize who he really was.

Maybe going right before his audition wasn’t the smartest idea.

Or maybe he would be in just the right emotional state to address the scene. 

Who knows.

Steve knocked on the door and waited a few moments before trying to text Bucky. However, the door opened to…not Bucky.

“Holy shit, you’re Steve Rogers,” was the first thing to come out of his mouth. “I mean,” he cleared his throat. “Hi, oh my god, I’m such a big fan of your movies. How can I help you?” he asked with a toothy smile.

“Hi, good morning, and thank you,” Steve gave his shiny Hollywood smile. “You must be Bucky’s roommate? Did he leave for work?” Steve asked.

“Yep, name is Sam...wait, you know Bucky?”

“I work with him in the actor and writing class?”

“Wait,” Sam put his hand up to stop Steve from talking any further. “You know Bucky.”

“Yes.”

“You’re Steve? The  _ Steve? _ ” Sam leaned back on his heels. “I think I have to make a reservation, shit,” Sam mumbled to himself.

“I would guess that he would have more friends that have the name Steve, but sure,” Steve adjusted the paper bag in his arms. “I stopped over to the store to grab him some stuff for this morning.”

“You heard his voicemail?” Sam stepped out onto the stoop, and closed the door behind him. 

“Yeah, uh. I kinda need to speak to him about all of that too.” 

“I can’t believe Bucky Barnes has been paired with Mr. Hollywood himself. I can’t believe he made out with you.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, “that happened.” 

“You’re gonna talk with him about that too?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Call it my strong intuition,” Sam laughed. “Look, I don’t know what you want me to tell him regarding who’s at the door - sexy Santa, considering the bag of gifts you got him?”

“God, please no,” Steve laughed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s the last thing I want to be referred to.”

Sam laughed. “You’re real easy to talk to, even though you’re a celebrity. Look, if you and Bucky are still together at the end of the day, could I get a selfie? No one’s gonna believe I met Steve Rogers.” 

“Maybe,” Steve smiled, and Sam opened the door. 

“Dude, who’s here this early in the morning,” Bucky was now on his couch, face down with the blanket up to his neck.

“Uh,” Steve adjusted the paper bag in his hands. “Just me? Steve?”

“Oh,” Bucky slowly turned himself over on the couch. “My knight in shining armor,” he smiled.

Steve smiled back. “Any place I can put these down before,” his voice drifted off.

“Before what?” Bucky’s voice croaked. “Before you have to go dashing off to another audition?” Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “If you go through the arch, the kitchen is to the right. You can drop off the stuff there, thanks,” Bucky smiled from behind the tassels of the blanket. 

Steve followed, but took out the Pedialyte and brought it back to the living room. “You need this, I think.”

“Thank you,” Bucky took the bottle. “You’re a lifesaver. With this, I might actually be able to go into work at twelve and begin to wither away slowly there. Or I might be able to get a slice of pizza. Who knows.”

“Who knows,” Steve echoed softly as Bucky drank the liquid. 

“So what brings you here?” he asked as he sat up on the couch, and wiped away the excess Pedialyte at his mouth.

“Uhm, a couple things actually.”

“You heard my drunken mess on the phone?”   
Steve chuckled. “Yes.”

“Oh, god,” he put his hands on his face. Brace on. 

“Yeah, it wasn’t the most prose worthy.”

“I’m so sorry for anything that came out of my mouth.”

“There was a couple things I may have liked,” Steve’s mouth turned slightly upward, and Steve noticed Bucky’s eyes follow. 

“Like?”

“Like,” Steve stretched out the word. “Like you saying that you like me.” 

Bucky blushed, and turned his head downward. “You sure it wasn’t the sound of me vomiting on some person’s shoes?” he laughed.

“Honestly, it was the sexiest thing of the whole voicemail,” Steve leaned back in his chair. “But, that’s the other thing I need to talk to you about.”

Bucky took the covers off of him and returned to the kitchen. Steve kept sitting in his chair. “Is this the time in the speech where you tell me you’re like dying or something? Because this is feeling very Nicholas Sparks-ish right now.”

“I think this is the point when I tell you that I am actually the Steve Rogers you watched high out of your mind,” Steve chuckled at the old conversation.

“What?” Bucky asked from the kitchen. 

Steve got up from his chair and walked into the kitchen, and leaned on the bar area, facing Bucky, who was now facing him with a carton of eggs in his hands. “Uh,” Steve cleared his throat. “ _ I got you! Yes, yes I do! I’m not leaving without you! I know the helicopter is coming right toward the building that’s why you have to jump!” _ Steve recited from memory, and Bucky dropped the carton of eggs onto the floor, the yellow yolk running onto the laminated floor. 

“Oh my God,” Bucky said before realizing the eggs were on the floor. “ _ Shit,  _ the eggs,” Bucky cursed and scrambled to get a towel.

“Hey, I got it,” Steve grabbed the closest roll of paper towels from the counter. 

“I just completely ruined the breakfast, and you’re an actor,  _ a famous actor _ , and we made out, and  _ I _ made out with a closeted? Wait are you closeted in Hollywood?”

“I mean that’s a whole different discuss-”

“The paparazzi was following me -  _ because of you  _ holy shit, am I going to become famous for this?”

“Bucky.”

“I don’t know if I have the stamina for fame, like  _ you _ apparently do - I don’t know what’s going on and -”

“ _ Bucky, _ ” Steve said more forcefully that he intended, but it stopped him from continuing his rambling. “Bucky. I’m so sorry to make you feel like this. That...that wasn’t my intention. I just really liked the fact that you didn’t know me, especially coming from a place where  _ everyone knows you _ . It was so refreshing. It was so refreshing to have someone treating me like a normal person. I have an agent and a really good PR person and if you don’t want to continue whatever this is,” Steve motioned between the two of them, “that’s...that’s fine. I guess. I should have told you sooner, but your writing, your friendship - that really hit me. Bucky, I like you, and even what you wrote in your script - what it  _ means  _ to you and what it could mean to a lot of people is so important -”

“Wait, what do you mean about my script?” Bucky put his finger up to stop Steve from talking.

“What?”

“What do you mean about my script - you heard me,” Bucky voice stayed monotonous.

“I...I read it.” 

Bucky was quiet. “That was not meant for you to read - wait. How did you read it?”

“I - your bag…”

“You reached into my stuff?” Bucky was becoming defensive.

“I mean it’s not like it’s your personal journal?” Steve asked and as soon as he said it, he knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes tightly. “I am so not in the right frame of mind for any of this. In what world did you think it was okay to read my script?”

“I mean,” Steve started then stopped. “It seems it’s more personal.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t know.”

“That’s why you didn’t want me to know what it was about?”

Bucky didn’t answer the question. “You should leave,  _ Mr. Hollywood. _ ”

The nickname stung. “What about the eggs?”

“Forget about  _ the fucking eggs, Steve _ , and please  _ leave. _ ”

Steve put the paper towels on the counter and sighed. “Okay. Uh. Please don’t shut me out. Take as long as you need, but please don’t shut me out,” Steve could feel the tears start to form, but he held them back. 

He held them back until he walked out of Bucky’s apartment.


	17. Chapter 17

There were eggs everywhere. On his floor, his pants, his feet...just everywhere. 

The information that Steve told him was too much for a hangover day. Too much for a day where he might be featured in  _ People Magazine: Online Version  _ or even worse -  _ Twitter -  _ for throwing up on the photographers’ shoes, and linking him back to Steve.

Steve Rogers. The famous actor.

What kind of shit show had he managed to get himself into this time? He couldn’t believe how dense, how  _ stupid _ he was because he was probably the only person in the world that thought Steve was just...Steve.

Just some dumb wannabe actor that was trying to get into theater... _ and he went with it.  _

Lies, to Bucky, matter. 

They matter a lot. They matter because his bird shit for brains squad leader lied about the mines. Lied about how it was just going to be a routine check, even though he heard him from the other side of the tent about something along the lines that it was actually disguised as an operation for something else.

Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He was here, though, and his leader was behind bars.

Bucky was still here in the kitchen with eggs still all over the kitchen floor, thankful that he was pulling out his phone to call out of work that day. 

*

Hours later, after a nap and ordering the greasiest breakfast sandwich he could find, Bucky sat back down at his chair, and started to type at his computer. 

**DENVER DARK**

So this is it?

[AN AMBULANCE ROARS BY THE TWO OF THEM OUTSIDE A NONDESCRIPT EMERGENCY ROOM]

**MICHAEL BENNETT**

This is it.

[MICHAEL BENNETT GRABS HIS KEYS FROM HIS POCKET AND STARTS WALKING TOWARDS THE CAR. DENVER DOESN’T FOLLOW] 

You comin’ with? We can find the closest motel, take a long shower, sleep...or not.

[MICHAEL BENNET SMIRKS] 

**DENVER DARK**

Well,

[DENVER PULLS OUT A MANILA ENVELOPE AND THROWS IT ON THE GROUND IN FRONT OF MICHAEL]

As enticing as that sounds...no. You’re not really Michael Bennett. You’re still some savvy tech genius from MIT. You lied. You lied,  _ Doctor _ .

[MICHAEL BENNETT...NOW REVEALED TO BE THE REAL DOCTOR]

**MICHAEL BENNETT**

Who gave you that file?

**DENVER DARK**

I’m not telling you that information.

[MICHAEL BENNETT BITES HIS LOWER LIP AND LOOKS AWAY]

**MICHAEL BENNETT **

Didn’t think this information would come out now.

**DENVER DARK**

Looks like you didn’t think of a lot of things ahead of time. 

[FLASHBACK OF MICHAEL BENNETT SETTING THE TRAPS. FOLLOWED BY FLASHBACKS OF DENVER PUTTING THE CLUES TOGETHER. FADE OUT FROM FLASHBACKS. FADE INTO CURRENT SCENE WITH VISUAL AND AUDIO FADE IN OF EMERGENCY LIGHTS AND SIRENS]

This’ll be the last we speak. 

[MICHAEL BENNETT GETS CUFFED BY TWO POLICE OFFICERS]

**MICHAEL BENNETT**

I don’t think it will.

[MICHAEL BENNETT SMIRKS, WINKS,AND IS PUSHED TOWARDS THE COP CARS BY THE OFFICERS. NATALIA WALKS UP TO DENVER WITH CRUTCHES.]

**NATALIE RUPHOUS**

Why are all the bad ones so goddamn attractive?

[DENVER DARK SIGHES, RUNS HIS HAND OVER HIS FACE]

**DENVER DARK**

I don’t know, but I hate it. You think he’ll be able to be contained in the prison?

[NATALIE LAUGHS AUDIBLY]

**NATALIE RUPHOUS**

No. Ten bucks he escapes within the week.

**DENVER DARK**

You got yourself a bet. 

[DENVER SMILES. HIS TROUBLES SEEM TO LIFT OFF OF HIS SHOULDERS. IT’S DONE. THE CAMERA PANS OUT ON THE BOTH OF THEM REVEALING THE SCENE OVERHEAD. MULTIPLE COP CARS, SIRENS, BUT THE SOUNDS SLOWLY FADING OUT TO THE END CREDITS THEME. 

END CREDITS ROLL

FADE TO BLACK WITH CREDITS

FIN]

Bucky leaned back in his chair. He finished the script. He completed something. Bucky pulled out his phone and texted Sam the news.

He started to type something, but just kept hitting the backspace button. He realized that there would only be words that could express his gratitude.

Two words. 

_ Thank you. _

It seemed like seconds later when Sam called back. Like he was staring at his phone,  _ waiting for something. _

“ _ Hey bud, you good?”  _ Sam immediately asked when Bucky accepted the call. 

He gave a deep sigh. “It’s done. After five  _ fucking years _ , I’m done with the movie.”

“_Shit, that’s amazing!_” Sam cheered respectfully, since he was still in his office. “_Did you tell Steve?_”

Bucky practically winced at the name. “Well, about that. I don’t know, since...since we were never really together. But, I don’t think that we’re going to be in contact any longer.”

“_Is it because he is famous?_”

“You knew?”

“_Only when I saw who he actually was_.”

“Am I the only dumbass who didn’t know that Steve...was Steve?”

“_To be quite honest, I did think that NDA was a little weird. You had to sign it before the class started. Why else would you need to do that?_”

“I thought it was so people didn’t steal other people’s writing.”

“_Fair point_.  _So, what are you going to do?_”

Bucky sighed. “I think I need my space from Steve. I think I gotta...I gotta make sure about some stuff. About some feelings.”

“_I was asking about the script, but that is very mature of you, Bucky._” He could hear the smile through the receiver. 

“Oh, uh. I’m not sure.”

“_You think you’ll submit it to studios?_”

“Maybe. I don’t know. It definitely needs some revisions. Do you think publishers accept screenplays?”

“_That is something I don’t know. Call around, maybe _ _ Penguin Press _ _ has an off-site location near the Astoria Studios. Maybe you can meet J-Lo._”

“Wasn’t her show cancelled?”

“_That was cancelled? Damn. I loved that show._”

“You loved it only for her.”

“_Excuse you, Ray Liota is a truly underrated actor_.”

“Aren’t I supposed to be the movie snob, here?” Bucky chuckled.

*

Bucky returned to work the next day, and the next, and the next. He stopped going to the writing class. He had only two more and he finished his script. 

It wasn’t worth it. It wasn’t worth seeing  _ his face _ . The face that read his script. That script was more personal than he thought, which is why it felt more invasive. It was like unlocking another level. 

Steve found the cheat code. 

Bucky presumed the classes were over when Tony emailed him with just  ** _?????_ ** in the subject line. 

_ Dearest Buckaroo, _

Bucky already rolled his eyes.

_ Just so you know there’s no refund for the classes you missed. But I really hope you can stop by sometime. Steve told me something about a script? I don’t know what happened between the two of you but I’m interested. You did it. You piqued my interest. Happy?  _

_ Anyways. Please bring me a copy tonight. Great. I’m assuming you’ve already cancelled your plans. _

_ Oh yeah. _

_ 7P.M. at the theater you’ve been avoiding for the past few weeks. _

_ -Tony _

Bucky hated that he wanted to go. He looked at the time. Bucky had just enough time to transfer the script onto the USB and print it at Staples.

7 P.M.

*

“Holy shit, I didn’t think you would actually show up,” Tony took a sip of his whiskey in his hand.

“Are you like...perpetually here?”

“No,” Tony immediately answered. “I mean, the time you and Steve made out, I was on a date with Pepper.” Bucky’s face flushed red. “I saw the security tapes. Steamy,” Tony said as he sat down on the stage. Bucky sat across from him, holding the script. “Brown paper package, tied up with string? Really?” Tony noted, and he shrugged. “Gimme,” Tony chided and Bucky followed.

Tony carefully unwrapped the script, and started to read it. He took his time and continued to take sips from his drink. 

Bucky started to bounce his leg. “So,” he said in the quiet theater. “Is...is it good at least?”

Tony looked up, and then placed the pages down. “Bucky, this is an absolutely great script.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Tony smiled. “Look. It does need work, but there’s a beginning, middle, and end.”

“The end was the most difficult part.”

“Endings are always the most difficult part. Nothing is perfect. I mean. There are worse endings than usual, but it works. Find someone to edit, maybe make suggestions...it has potential, but that’s what makes it great. Am I saying drop what you do nine to five and move to LA? No. But...don’t give up on this.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve goes on Good Morning, USA to talk about his upcoming play.

When Steve got a call from the director of the play, three texts from Natasha, and a Variety article sent to his email about the play, it finally dawned on Steve that he got the part. 

Then the articles started to trickle in about...everything else. Details on the play, his life, why he maybe wanted to choose this challenge of  _ acting _ versus acting - the article's words. However, the one thing that caught his attention was another, positively skewed, article,...it was an interview with Peggy.

His ex. 

He shut his phone off and slid it across the coffee table.

*

Steve moved in his days monotonously. He thrived in the monotony, where most of his days were finding routes to try and escape the paparazzi. Most of the time he ended up taking a Lyft. It was something he just didn’t want to deal with, and he wanted to have his mind blank for rehearsals. 

He wasn’t trying to make that he was Daniel Day Lewis or something by going  _ full method _ but it helped. There were days where he felt as though the pressure from stress was spilling out of his ears. Some of the other actors called him out that he looked like a football player walking into the game of the year. 

He went from book to off-book to dress rehearsal to already previews. Steve started to fasten his backpack, when the door to his dressing room opened. 

“Do we have to go over the apartment scene again? I think I flubbed up enough to really have the director start pulling his hair out.”

“You causin’ trouble Rogers?” It was Natasha.

In the flesh.

Steve turned around and immediately went to hug her. 

“ _ Hi, Steve,”  _ Natasha mumbled against Steve’s chest. 

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you.”

“I guess you needed some Californian energy,” Natasha pushed back from Steve, but with a smile. 

“Man, this place is like a maze,” a voice traveled down the hallway. 

“Bruce, we're here,” Natasha poked her head out of the door.

“Bruce?” Steve asked. “Wait, is he ‘Big Man?” he started to chuckle.

“Hiya,” Bruce’s voice was the perfect Californian stereotype. “I’m Bruce. I work in PR. Also, Natasha’s boyfriend.”

Natasha’s hand was already over her pink face. “Yep, guess we’re there already. Look,” she put her hands at her waist, “If I’m also turning this into mini-vacation for the both of us, sue me.”

“I know better, Nat,” Steve chuckled and greeted Bruce with a firm handshake. “So, have anything planned?”

“Well you’re going on  _ Good Morning America  _ tomorrow to start your small press tour for the play, then we have you on Seth Meyers’ show, taking a quick detour to  _ The Daily Show,  _ making a pit stop at SNL for some rehearsals for  _ Weekend Update _ , that should round out the week, I think,” Natasha looked at her phone’s calendar. 

“I was more looking for the answer of ‘ _ we’re taking a tour of the Statue of Liberty’ _ but I’ll make sure to cancel all of my dates for the week.”

“Who’s the lucky person?” Bruce smiled.

“Yes, please, elaborate,” Natasha looked at Steve, with her eyebrows up to her hairline, and voice almost monotonous.

“It’s a joke,” Steve said. “Sarcasm. Just,” Steve pursed his lips together, trying to form it into a smile. “All good. So,  _ Good Morning, U.S.A.  _ tomorrow?”

Natasha started to talk, but her voice started to fade. Rehearsals seemed to be a dream. Getting back on stage was invigorating and brought...brought life back into his work. He didn’t feel like a cardboard cutout standing in the room, but felt the passion start to creep back into his life. 

“Steve? You here?” Natasha asked, waving her arm slightly. 

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “What time, again?” 

“The car is coming at six in the morning, seven for clothing and makeup, and your interview is at eight-thirty. Prepared questions are here, and I’ll see you in the car. Bruce and I are going to a restaurant in the East Village.”

“Best pho I’ve ever had, during my last trip. Wanna join?” Bruce adjusted his glasses.

“No, you have your fun. Enjoy the pho, but I want a full report. On the food, not your night,” Steve smirked.

Natasha rolled her eyes and turned around to head out the door. “We watched your rehearsals, Steve. Don’t forget - you’re good. Really, really good,” she smiled slightly. 

“Thanks, Nat. You’re the one who always believed in me.”

“Of course. Now, me and the big guy -  _ dammit _ ,” Natasha sighed. “Me and  _ Bruce _ -”

“There’s a reason that name sticks,” Bruce said.

“-are heading to dinner. Goodnight, Steve, and see you in the morning.”

*

Steve’s night was calm. A little Netflix, a little pizza. He had become accustomed to the city. When it’s nights became less crowded, when the lights from cars shone less during the day. It was like a puzzle he was finally unlocking, available to only those living in the city for more than a month.

It didn’t feel like he went to sleep. It was more like he coasted. Press junkets were annoying. The same questions over and over again, trying to keep his sanity, all while holding a lukewarm cup of coffee. Maybe that is just for film. 

*

Steve let the styling assistant tighten his tie, and let the hair stylist grease his hair so it stayed in place. Natasha went over talking points, but Steve just kept walking forward. It seemed as though all of a sudden he was in the chair and the director was counting down from three..

two…

...one, and we are live,” the director pointed to the host.

“Welcome back to  _ Good Morning, U.S.A.,  _ we are here with actor Steve Rogers, most known for  _ Ninety Degrees West _ ,  _ Danger Dead Ahead _ , and now he’s taking a different direction and heading to Broadway for the play  _ Distant Neighbors  _ directed by three time Tony Award winning playwright Larry Jenkinson. Steve, welcome to the show!” the host gleefully introduced him.

“Hi,” Steve smiled and waved to the camera. “Thank you for having me.”

“How have you been enjoying New York?”

“It’s been a great city the past few months, been really enjoying it. Y’know all of the comedians are right when they talk about the differences between LA and the city.”

“Which one is better?” the host smiled.

“You’re really gonna make me choose, huh?” Steve laughed, and looked over to see Natasha standing off to the side and giving two thumbs up. “I’ve been in L.A. for so long but it’s always nice to return home.”

“You grew up here?”

“Brooklyn, until I was ten,” Steve smiled, “then I moved to Los Angeles so I could start acting in commercials. I had very supportive parents.”

“So, you’re here today because you’re starring in the new Larry Jenkinson show  _ Distant Neighbors _ .”

“Yes, it opens in two months, but previews start next week, which is definitely not nerve wracking at all,” Steve smiled.

“Was the part offered or did you audition?”

“Auditioned -”

“You auditioned? Even as a big movie star?”

“Even as a big movie star. It’s only fair,” Steve adjusted himself in the chair. 

“So, let’s talk about the meat of the play. The description says ‘ _ Two fallout friends from high school end up moving in next to each other and the tumultuous relationship that follows.’ _ So the big elephant in the room is that this is a role with a gay male romance.”

“Yes,” Steve noticed Natasha cross her arms and stiffen. She knew that was going to come up, and had coached Steve on what to say.

“So, the description of the play leaked and that was all around the time the photos came about, and an article surfaced with your life post breakup with Peggy Carter.”

Steve cleared his throat. “What attracted me to this play was that it was more of an experience, more of the fact that there are people who can strike up romances with the most unlikely of people,” Steve’s mouth started to run. “I think it’s a testament to modern romances, to breaking down what masculinity means. I mean, I’m an actor that primarily does the shoot-em-up roles, but I think working with Jenkins and all the other amazing cast members helps explore that topic that is untapped in my line of work. I feel as though I owe it to break down those stereotypes I produce.”

“How so?”

“Well, being someone who is this ‘manly man,’” Steve took a deep breath, “but I also identify as bisexual. Usually those two things, being in a gay relationship or a non-heterosexual relationship and macho things don’t co-exist, and I really want to show that it can.”

Steve saw the camera move to the host and she flipped through her cards trying to not look surprised. Steve looked to Natasha and saw her hand over half of her face, and a thumbs up with the other. Bruce was behind her smiling at Steve.

“Wonderfully said, Steve,” the host smiled. “Don’t forget to pick up your tickets to  _ Distant Neighbors _ , previews begin on September third, and the play starts a month later, on October third. Steve, thank you, and we hope to have you back when the play officially opens!”

Steve smiled. “Thank you for having me, and I hope to be back, if they let me get out of the theater.”

The director yelled cut from behind the cameras, and production almost abruptly halted and Steve waved to everyone. “Sorry,” he said slightly.

The host took a step forward. “Don’t apologize. You did well. Those movie press junkets allowed you to create an amazing soundbite. Maybe don’t look online for a few days. Focus on your work. I can’t wait to see the play, really well talked about. They’re saying there’s going to be a Tony award with your name on it.”

“Let me know when you come, I can score you a backstage pass, and you can see the stage up close,” Steve smiled, said goodbye and walked towards Natasha.

“I’m gonna win manager of the year after this y’know,” Natasha said, and put a hand on Steve’s back.

“I better be the first person you thank in your acceptance speech,” Steve said as he loosened his tie.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months later, Bucky attends a play.

Bucky messed with his hair in the mirror. It wasn’t sitting right. If he flipped it to the right, it was too much hair, and if he flipped it to the left, his hairline would show. 

Bucky blew a frustrated breath out of his nose. Nothing was working.

Nothing ever worked on a date night. 

Bucky basically gave up and just put it in a small bun. His hair was just long enough now to pull it to the back and have a couple strands fall in front of his face. It look stylized without Bucky putting too much effort into it. It was his and his date’s one month anniversary. It was stupid to count a small mildstone in his relationship, but it was his first real relationship in a really long time that wasn’t surrounded by one night stands. Bucky rolled his shoulder, and pressed the knots in his back with his opposite sided thumb, and moved his elbow. 

It was a brace night for sure. His sweater was too tight on the arms, so he had to put it over his sleeve. He was going to get questions for sure.

_ Steve never really _ \- 

Bucky stopped that train of thought. No reason to bring him up. He was living his best celebrity life. He saw the interviews - Steve was practically on every local New York outlet talking about his coming out. A few newspapers caught onto his celebrity and he so desperately wanted to avoid it. 

To avoid it all.

*

There was a soft knock on the door, and Bucky padded up to the door to look in the peephole. The soft grey hair of his date filled up the small circular area. Bucky opened the door and leaned on the frame. “Hiya,” he smiled and waited for Alex to lean in and kiss him. 

All he got was a finger under the chin, a light touch to his chin with his thumb, and a smile. “Hiya, back to you. You ready?”

Bucky opened the door and stepped back into the apartment. “You want a beer or anything before we go to the...wait,” Bucky stopped. “You haven’t told me what we are doing tonight.” 

“...and we are keeping it that way. I wanna treat you well tonight, James,” he smiled, with his tone light. 

That dreaded first name. 

Bucky sighed internally. “Okay,” and smiled. “Beer or…”

“I’m fine. We should actually start to head over now,” Alex checked his watch. “Are you wearing that?”

“Uh, I guess? I can change.” 

Alex sighed. “No, we are gonna be late. Let’s head out,” he forced a smile. Bucky pursed his lips together and kept messing with his brace - “stop touching that, it’s gonna get out of alignment. You’re gonna be in pain if you keep messing with the dial -” and left the apartment in tow.

*

The Escalade pulled up to the taxi lane, and the driver ran out to open their doors as Alex flipped through his phone. Bucky just sat in his seat, waiting awkwardly. 

“Enjoy your evenings, sir,” the driver smiled as he waited to the side. Bucky scooted out of the car and waited for Alex, who was still on his phone. They walked side by side, barely touching each other. They passed the poster. 

The poster to the play.

The play that they were seeing. 

That Bucky was seeing.

With a big red label across the poster that read  **OPENING NIGHT** , the mangled photoshop mess that was underneath touted Steve’s face.

_ Distant Neighbors _ . 

“Surprise! I got opening tickets to see the new play. Previews were a hit. The  _ New York Times _ calls it a ‘must see.’”

Bucky cleared his throat and threw on a smile. “Your subscription to the  _ Times _ must be paying off.”

Alex laughed. “I just read the poster. This’ll be fun. A little theater, a couple drinks, maybe we can head back to my place,” Alex placed his hands on Bucky’s hip and pulled him a little closer, “maybe reenact a little  _ Distant Neighbors  _ in bed,” he raised his eyebrows in playful anticipation. 

This is what attracted Bucky to Alex. The fun loving older guy. Not too much older, but the grey hair allowing his style to be  _ just _ a little bit more sophisticated. Better than the hoodies. The soft shirts that stretched just enough across his chest -  _ the chest.  _ The chest. Around the arms. The way the denim pants look -

Bucky cleared his throat, obviously zoning out. “Mmm, yeah. I like the sound of that,” Bucky lied to himself, but it was just convincing enough. 

Alex smiled. “C’mon. We should get to our seats.”

*

The lights turned on and off, indicating that the play was about to start. Alex got seats in the box. His favorite because he was able to see everything. 

The lights lowered. 

The announcement came on for everyone to shut off their phones, and Bucky looked over to Alex still on his phone. He didn’t even bother to make Alex shut it off. 

A singular spotlight went onto the middle of the stage and Steve, in a hoodie, jeans, and a slightly too tight t-shirt. 

_ Goddammit.  _

Bucky shifted in his seat as a woman behind the two of them loudly exclaimed, “ _ That’s him!”  _ as if she was the only one that could see that Steve was on stage. The play went on. He got his laughs at the points of comedy, and gasps during the twists that ended the first act of the play into intermission. 

“Hey,” Alex raised his eyebrows as he leaned over. “You wanna get out of here? Grab a drink, maybe...maybe go back to my place? Celebrate our one month, officially?”

“Uh,” Bucky shifted in his seat. “You’re not enjoying the play?”

“It’s a Y.A. novel at best. His worst work. Steve Rogers is probably in it just to get this thing off the ground. It’ll never win a Tony.” 

“I like it...can we stay?” Bucky looked at his phone. “We have like an hour left of it.”

“Did you go online to search up how long this thing is?”

_ I’ve read the script _ , Bucky thought. “Yeah.”

Alex sighed. “Only for you.”

The play continued on, and came to the point that Bucky remembers most. The kiss. 

The time when Steve’s lips were on his. Light and nervous at first, but they deepened the kiss, becoming forceful and passionate. Bucky remembers the feeling of the moan coming from the bottom of his throat. 

He wanted that kiss -  _ craved _ it. It was like it was seared in his brain. The memory practically acting out in front of him on stage. 

Like he was reliving it as an out of body experience. 

The play ended with roaring applause, and it grew to a standing ovation when Steve stepped back on stage. The director hugged Steve and stood out for his own applause. People started to filter out, and Alex stood up. 

“You ready?” Alex said as he flipped through some notifications on his phone. I think the bar is still mixing their special drinks for another half hour, we can get there, grab some drinks and then -”

“Can we just wait out the crowd?” Bucky asked.

“C’mon really?” Alex raised his eyebrows. “You’ve talked about this in therapy like three times already. You should be good. C’mon.”

“No. I want to wait out the crowds.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Are  _ you _ kidding me? What’s so special about this bar?”

“Nothing, I just wanna get out of here. That play was awful, and I can’t believe they actually used Steve Rogers of  _ all the actors _ as the lead. God he was terrible. But opening night, it was fun. Glitz and glam and all of that.”

“Go ahead without me. I’ll meet you there.”

Alex sighed. “Okay. See you there, babe.”

Bucky sat in his chair, and leaned back, into the plush seating, and watched Alex disappear into the crowds. Gone.

The people filtered out, and Bucky took the back route out of the theater, following the glowing red  **EXIT** signs to the doors that led to the back alley. 

*

Bucky sat down on the weirdly damp asphalt. He adjusted his brace so he wouldn’t move his arm so much. He just wanted to keep it still.  _ Bucky _ just wanted to be still. Steve was doing his dream job. Acting in front of the people that praised his work, being the theatrical star that he was meant to be. 

Bucky was just...sitting in a damp alleyway, practically hiding from a shitty one-month relationship that just went down the drain. He was still at his job, punching numbers looking at a dusty completed script that had been looked over four times and had enough markings on it that rivaled his mother’s cookbook. Steve was doing something with his life, because that was he was meant to do, and as much as he still hated Steve for lying to him, Bucky couldn’t deny that he was completely attracted to him. 

Steve was a good soul. He was warm. 

A warm person.

“Bucky?”

That voice. 

Bucky looked up from the ground and matched his eyes with the tall blond man that stood above him.

“Come around here much?” Steve laughed. “Didn’t think damp alleyways were your speed.”

“Didn’t think they were up your -” Bucky started, as he tried to get up.

“Don’t say alley.”

“-alley,” Bucky said as he struggled. 

“Hey,” Steve put down his duffle bag, “Bucky, you can pause. I’ll come down to your level.”

“But your pants?”

“They’re just pants,” Steve smiled. His thousand-watt Hollywood smile. “This is the one thing I could never crack about the city. Why are alleyways always so damp?”

“Oh, we’re callin’ New York now ‘the city’. Suddenly we’re incredibly fancy.”

“I’m a regular ol’ Manhattanite now,” Steve chuckled and Bucky laughed along. “You...you saw the play?”

“I did,” Bucky smiled. “My date who practically abandoned me brought me to see it. Didn’t know it was your show.”

“I was so bad. I messed up so many times.”

“Really?” Bucky looked at Steve. “I swear I couldn’t tell.” 

“You’re just lying to make me feel better.”

“Are you shitting me? You were amazing. You captured every line perfectly.”

“You’re just saying that,” Steves said, and if it was just the awkward lighting, Bucky hoped it was a slight blush across his cheeks. 

“No, I mean it,” Bucky smiled. 

“Look, Bucky, I’m sorry. About...about everything. I think things just got out of control and I was on a train that could not stop. I found myself liking that train ride and -”

“Cool it with the train metaphors, Rogers,” Bucky said.

“Right, thank you. I invaded your privacy, lied to you and...and really caused you some distress, which you didn’t need. I hope you can forgive me. I...missed you. I really missed you.”

“Forgiveness given. Thank you,” Bucky smiled. “So, seeing anyone?”

“Right to the punch, huh?”

“Look, your coming out went to about three million views within the first hour of it being on YouTube.”

“Not seeing anyone,” Steve ran a hand through his hair. “The play had been really taking up all my time. Didn’t want the paparazzi invading my life, so I kind of steered clear. How about your script?”

“Sitting on my desk collecting dust. I edited it like four times, though, but I think I just need to clean it up and submit it.”

“Are you gonna do it?”

“I...I don’t know. But,” Bucky shrugged, “I’m just waiting for the right time.” 

“I don’t think there’s ever a right time, Buck,” Steve said with a small smile. He was really the only guy in the world that could call him that. “I think sometimes you just gotta be a little impulsive and-” Bucky leaned over, cupped Steve’s cheek and kissed Steve right on the lips. Steve was a little surprised, but almost immediately melted into the kiss. Bucky’s tongue slid across Steve’s lips and he felt a moan reverberate at the bottom of his throat. They parted, with smiles. 

“A little impulsive, just like that?” Bucky chuckled, and moved away from Steve a little too quickly. He cleared his throat and shifted away slightly from Steve. “Sorry. Don’t want the cameras finding us together like that. Don’t want to make you the front of some click-baity page.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Steve said as he shifted closer and placed his hand over Bucky’s, interlacing them together. Bucky squeezed Steve’s hand, and a smile washed over his face. “I’m not scared anymore.” 

Steve leaned in again, and caressed Bucky’s cheek, and kissed him deeply -they both knew that that kiss definitely wouldn’t be their last.


	20. Chapter 20 - Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of the rest of their lives.

** **

**One Year and Six Months Later**

The strange thing about L.A., at least for Bucky, was that it was summer for practically three-quarters of the year. It was the one thing he had to adjust to when moving to the celebrity packed city. A celebrity packed city, with coffee shops inside the massive lot to appease all of the overworked people who allowed this city within a city to survive.

Bucky got enough courage, with the help of Sam and Steve, to mail his script to some studios with a recommendation letter by Steve.

It got rejected three times. 

They started their dating life in NYC. Going out to dimly lit clubs, and less frequented bars - however they enjoyed it. But, even though it was kind of like a game of cat and mouse, Steve and Bucky thrived. They stuck it through Christmas, stuck it through New Years in Bucky’s apartment. They stuck it through the big reveal that Bucky was Steve’s current boyfriend. Their relationship grew stronger and stronger. Through Steve’s mom’s anniversary of her death, with tears and lots of hugs, through Steve finding out that Bucky’s little sister (yes, Steve heard that right) was a super-fan that posted fanart of him on Twitter, and through the ending of Steve’s widely popular play, even though he missed out on a Tony.

They stuck through it all. 

The words, one autumn day, floated through the air, in Steve’s grey open concept apartment, “Let’s move to Los Angeles.”

Bucky looked up to Steve, as they lay in Steve’s bed, just resting together. “What?”

“L.A. You can sell your script to more studios more up front, and Natasha wants me to start audition hunting for some different roles for more films. But like, indie ones.”

Bucky bit his lip. His whole life was New York down to the very bagel he ate for breakfast. Fresh from the bodega down the street on the corner, with the grey cat that meows from the top shelf where the crushed tomato cans collected dust. 

“You don’t have to decide now, but I think I have to head back to California...I mean, we can try the whole long distance, you can maybe ask Lang if you can take a long weekend or I can head back every other week and when I’m not shooting or -”

“Are you asking me to move in with you?”

“Huh? I mean,” Steve turned his head to face Bucky. “I mean, yeah. Yeah. We can find something that is suitable for both of us and we don’t have to decide now and -”

Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve on the lips. “Yes, you doofus, I’ll move in.”

“You don’t have to decide now, wait...did you just say yes?”

“I quit my job today.”

“What?” Steve was surprised.

“I gave my two weeks, more so. If I want to be serious about wanting to get this script off the ground, I don’t think this city wants it. I think I gotta focus and realize that I can get the same New York City style bagels in L.A.”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows. “No you can’t-”

“Shhhh,” Bucky put a finger to Steve’s lips. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

*

Netflix said yes. 

Not to a film, but to a series. 

_ Potential. _

“They said it had potential,” Bucky was speechless and Steve gave Bucky the biggest and warmest hug. 

*

[DENVER DARK TURNS OVER IN HIS BED AND SWITCHES ON THE LIGHT, TO SEE MICHAEL BENNETT STILL ON HIS PHONE]

**DENVER DARK**

How are you still awake?

[DENVER DARK’S VOICE STILL GROGGY]

[MICHAEL BENNETT CLOSES HIS PHONE AND PUTS IT ON THE NIGHTSTAND, AND TURNS OVER IN HIS BED]

**MICHAEL BENNETT**

Insomnia. Brain is still buzzin’.

**DENVER DARK**

I still can’t quite figure you out. 

**MICHAEL BENNETT**

Maybe there’s nothing to figure out. Maybe it’s just you and me and this two bed motel room. 

*

So, that’s how Bucky was here, at this small coffee shop in L.A. on a studio lot, as a staff writer for the show he helped create. He brought the two warm cups over to the table, waiting for Steve to arrive. Everything was a whirlwind. It seemed like he was so unsure as to what his life wanted to be, what he expected to be only practically two years ago. 

The thing - the script - that still sat in his messenger bag, like a new age lucky charm, was the thing that catapulted his life into what it is now. Bucky - after the war, after years in therapy, after sitting through endless talks of number crunching - was happy. 

He was happy to see Steve’s ridiculous thousand-watt-smile light up his life day in and day out, especially in coffee shops. The bells jangled when the door opened. Bucky looked up to see Steve’s sun-kissed skin, and his hair standing up in all places, like his hand went through his hair a thousand times. Bucky waved him over. 

“Saving a seat? For me?” Steve asked with mock surprise.

Bucky placed his copy of Steve’s lines on the table, with some pens and highlighters scattered across the top. He took a sip of his coffee, and let Steve relax for a bit before putting his hand on the table. His brace was opened to a full range of motion, but kept it on for a precaution today. 

“Bad arm day?”

Bucky sighed. “Yeah, I think it’s due to all of the opening and closing of the laptops.”

“Spasms?”

“Yeah,” Bucky pursed his lips. “But, I got mister handy-dandy brace on me, as per usual.”

“Good,” Steve smiled and took a sip of the coffee. “So, scene twelve - what do you mean when Denver mentioned Michael Bennett has one of the best asses of all time to Natalia? I still can’t believe you were working on this while I was sitting right across from you.”

“Oh my God, I am bringing it up to scratch that scene, in the next meeting.”

“No, no, no it’s great. Fantastic even. Maybe I’ll just think about yours,” Steve smiled. 

Bucky paused. “Okay, I’ll allow it. Do you want to run lines outside studio four?” Bucky smiled as he took another sip. 

“Sure, but I just want to sit here for a little bit longer.”

“Okay,” Bucky smiled. “We can do that.”

Steve looked at Bucky. He was still holding his hand. “I love you.”

Bucky looked back, thumb caressing Steve’s. “I love you, too.”

It wasn’t the first time they said it, and it wouldn’t be the last. But, they let the bustling studio city run around, while they sat down in a coffee shop, with an engagement ring sitting right in the back of both of their pockets.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With that, that is the end of this story. Thank you so much for reading, and I really hope you enjoyed it! Again I want to thank Loeliy for the amazing art, and ModEraPoppins for the beta. I really could not have made this story work without the both of you. 
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is always welcomed. 
> 
> Much love,  
WishingWell44


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